Qass 
Book 




— 44it- 



v5 

POEMS, ■ /^>s- 



By the Rev. JAMES HURDIS, B. D. dj^ 

PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORp. 



yiZ. THE 

VILLAGE CURATE; 
ADRIANO, 

OR 

THE FIRST OF JUNE ; 

AND 

TEARS OF AFFECTION 



TO WHICH IS ADDED, 

THE BOQUET, 

Ji collection of scattered Pieces. 

BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 



PHILADELPHIA: 
PUBLISHED BY D. HANNA, 



1818. 



THE 



VILLAGE CURATE, 



Oi 



'F Man's firfl difobedience, and the fruit: 
Of that forbidden tree, whofe mortal tafte 
Brought death into the world, and all our woe, 
With lofs of Eden — of the glorious 3^ear, 
la all her changes fair ; of gentle Spring, 
Veil'd in a fhow'r of rofes and prefumes. 
Refulgent Summer in the pride of youth, 
Mild Autumn with her wain and wheaten iheaf. 
Or fullcn V/inter, loud, and tyrannous, 
Let nobler poets fmg. Sit thou apart. 
And on thine own ParnafTLis fweep the lyre. 
Applauded Hayley, by the Mufes taught 
That in thofe fairy groves delight to dwell 
Thy hand has rear'd. And thou, furpafTingbard, 
That prisoner tofome fair one's will hall fung 
% 



Q. The Village Curate, 

Thy Taflv fo fweetly, ftrike again the Arong. 
The bold, the various energetic chord, 
Secure and happy in thy far retreat. 
Be mine the tafk to ilng the man how blefl-. 
The Village Curate. From no foreign fhore 
Came he a wand'ring fugitive, and toft 
On angry feas, to plcafe a poet's gods. 
At length fcarce rcach'd the hofpitable port. 
With Father Brute he boafls not to have left 
The tott'ring ftate of Priam, nor his blood 
Can fhew by lineal catalogue {o pure 
And only Brltifh, that no rude invader 
Of Danifh, Saxon, or of Norman breed, 
Has mix'd with his god-fprung progenitors. 
He has not clomb the high and hoary tops 
Of Snowdon or Plnlim.mon, yet in heart 
A truer Briton Hves not •, thee he loves, 
O happy England, and will love thee flill. 

In yonder manfion, rearM by ruflic hands, 
And deck'd v.'ith no fuperfiuous ornament, 
Where ufe was all the architeff propos'd, , 
And all the mafter wifli'd, that fcarce a mile 
From village tumult, to the morning fun 
Turns his warm afpecl, yet v/ith blolToms hung 
Of cherry, and of peach, lives happy flill 



The Village Curate, 

The reverend Alcanor. On a hill, 

Half way between the fummit and a brook 

That idly wanders at the foot, it ftands, 

And looks into a valley wood-befprent, 

That winds along below. Beyond the brook. 

Where the high coppice intercepts it not, 

Or focialclms, or with his ample waifi: 

The venerable oak, up the fteep fide 

Of yon afpiring hill full oppofite, 

Luxuriant paflare fj^rea'-^s before his eye 

Eternal verdure j favethat here and theic 

A fpot of deeper green ftiews v/here the fwaia 

Experts a nobler harveft, or high poles 

Mark the retreat of the fcarce-budded hop, 

To be hereafter eminently fair, 

And hide the naked IlafFthat train'd him up 

With golden flow'rs. On the hill-top behold 

The village fleeple, rifingfrom the midil 

Of many a ruiVic edifice -, 'tis all 

The paflor*s care. For he, ye whipping clerks, 

Who with a jockey's fpeed from morn till night 

Gallop amain through lermons, fer vices. 

And dirty roads, and hardly find the day 

Sufficient for your toil — he llIU difdains 

For lucre- fake to do his work amifs, 

ALnd ftarve the flock he undertakes to feed. 

B 2 



4 The Village Curate* 

Nor does he envy your ignoble eafe. 
Ye pamper'd Priells, that only eat and fleep, 
And fleep and eat, and qiiafFthe tawny juice 
Of vet'ran port : fleep on_, and take your reft. 
Nor quit the downy couch preferment fliews 
To aid your mafter. Vfhile Alcanor lives. 
Though Providence no greater meed defiga 
To crown his labour, than thefcantyfum 
One cure affords, yet will he not regret 
That he renounced a life fo profitlefs 
To God and to his country. For he too 
Might ftill have flumber'd in an eafy chairy 
Or idly loll'd upon a fofa, held 
A willing captive in the magic chahi 
Of Alma-mater, but in happy time 
Serious occafion cut the golden link, 
And fet him free, to tafte the nobler fweets 
Of life domeftic. There th' apoftate lives. 
In habitation neat, but plain and fmall. 
Look in and fee, for there no treafon lurks, 
And he who lives as in the face of Heav'n 
Shuns not the eye of man. On either fide 
The door that opens with a touch, a room. 
The kitchen one, and what you will the other. 
There now he fits in meditation loft. 
And to the growing page commits with fpeed 



The Village Curate, S 

To-morrow's text. Look round, nor fear to roufe 
The bufy foul, that on her work intent. 
Holds fenfe a prisoner, and with cautious bolt 
Has barr'd full-fafl the portals of the mind, 
To (hut out interruption. Bare the walls — 
For here no painter's happy art has taught 
The great progenitor to live anew 
Upon the fmiling canvas. Sculpture here 
No ornament has hung of fruit or flow'r. 
Nor fpecimen is here, to fhew how well 
The imitative flyle can Ileal the grace 
That Nature lent the Painter. One poor ftieet. 
Half Almanack, half print, without a frame, 
Above the grate hangs unaccompanied : 
A kind remembrancer of time to come. 
Of fad and feflival, expiring terms, 
Nev/ moon and full. A regal table here 
Arrefts the eye, and here the vafl account 
Of chancellor. High Steward, and their traln^ 
Vice-chancellor, and Pro<flors, awful found. 
And flill more awful fight to him that treads 
The public flreet with hat and flick, or wants 
That grave appendage of the chin, a band. 
Above behold the venerable pile 
Same pious Founder rais'd ; but flay we no£ 
23 



6 The Village Curate. 

To call him from his grave, where he perhaps 
"Would gladly reft unknown, and have an ear 
Not to be rous'd by the Archangel's trump. 

Yon half-a-dozen fhelves fupport, vaft weight! 
The Curate's Library. There marfliall'd (land, 
Sages and heroes, modern and antique : 
He their commander, like the vanquifh'd fiend, 
Out-cafl of Heav'n, oft thro' their armed files 
Darts an experienced eye, and feels his heart 
Diflend with pride to be their only chief. 
Yet needs he not the tedious mufler-roll, 
The title-page of each well-known, his name. 
And charadler. Nor fcorns he to converfe 
With raw recruit or mufty veteran. 
And oft prefers the mutilated garb 
To macaroni fuit, bedaub'd with gold, 
That often hides the man of little worth. 
And tinfel properties. What need of drefsf 
So fine and gorgeous, if the foul within 
Be chafle and pure ? The fairefi: mail: put on 
Hides not the wrinkle of deformity. 
A foul of worth will gild a beggar's frieze. 
And on his tatter'dfuit a luflre flied 
No time can change. Give to the harlot's cheek 



The Village Curate, ^ 

The glowing rouge, true virtue needs it not. 
Shed perfumes in the chambers of the Tick, 
The lip of health has odours of its own. 

Now mark we, what the mafler moil: efl:eems> 
Yon antiquated thing, whofe fliapelefs bulk 
Fills half his room, the name a harpflchord. 
In days remote the artift liv'd, whofe hand 
Firfl fmoothM the burnifh'd furface, haply fprung 
From line of Jubal, whofe ingenious race 
Firft taught the harp and organ. Thence it came^ 
Like great Atrides' fceptre, handed down 
From Vulcan's fmithy : to his chatterbox. 
The pert and nimble-finger'd Argicide 
Jove gave it, he toPelops, and fo on. 
So when his Grace a thread-bare coat difcards. 
He gives it to his valet, he to Tom, 
And Tom to Dick \ then fwings it for a while 
Under a penthoufe-fliadein Monmouth-flreet. 
It travels once again from back to back. 
Of prentice, poet, pedlar, till at length. 
Quite out at elbows, and of buttons flript. 
Powdered and grtafy, to fome beggar's brat 
It falls, a golden prize. Such the defcent 
Alcanor's inftrument may bcafi:, but he 
More for its prefent ufe the thing Q^zt'Si^ 



S ne Village Curate. 

Than could its ancient pedigree be trac'd 
E'en to the days of old Cadwallader. 

"What boots it, O ye titled great, to flacw 
The noble anceflor of regal line, 
Whofe valour bound an enemy in chains, 
Or patriotic wifdom fav'd a ftate j 
To be allied to men of wit and worth. 
The glory of the world, if in yourfelves 
No fpark of virtue live ? Who can eileem 
The man that all his dignity derives 
From honors not his own ? Give me the fleed 
"Whofe noble efforts bore the prize away> 
I care not for his grandfire or his dam ; 
Be thine the nag of admirable port, 
That fpare and finewlefs ilill lags behind, 
I a(k him not, though fprung of Galathy, 
Bucephalus, or Pegafe. Yet I grant. 
Where goodnefs is to greatnefs near allied. 
And blood and virtue for one empire flrive. 
The man that has them is a man indeed. 
Nor, truft me, is the world fo worthlefs grown> 
Butfuch there are, and fuch my foul efleems. 

That ample cafe, that underneath the frame 
Of harpfichord fo fmooth, in (hape uncouth 



Ihe Village Curate. 

Repofes, from the morning broom defends 
A viol-bafs, elfelong agodeftroy'd 
By the rude blows of flat.ern Dorothy. 
For fhe, a iubtle Vv'it, can plainly fee 
No worth in that whofe worth is far removed 
Beyond her fight, and reach : fo, critic-iike, 
She fweeps away her cobv/eb with a frifk, 
And crulhes many a pearl. Thatfmaller cafe 
A violin protects, Aiil fafe and found, 
Though tumbled oft upon the parlour floor 
With proud difdain, and ruin mufical. 
Six afhen chairs, a table, and a grate, 
Poker and tongs, make up the vafl account. 

Such is Alcanor's houfliold, fuch his flatc. 
Save what might yet be fungin higher flrains. 
Of pan and kettle, barrel, broom, and ftool. 
The furniture of wafh-houfe, kitchen vaft. 
And cellar ill-beflowM ; imperial themes. 
And worthy meditation infinite. 
Save too the tedious inventory above. 
Of bed and blanket, old bureau, and chair. 
Befides what ornaments the fkyey nefl 
Of high-afpiring Dorothy. A maid 
Is Pae, that fleeps in the moon's neighbourhood;^ 
And often hears the golden fliow'r defcend 



10 The Village Curate, 

Upon the tiles above, nor dreads afTault 

From maid-deceiviDg Jove. Too wife were he 

Tofeek Califlo under Dian's nofe. 

Let the fan* filver-fnafted Q^een depart, 

And Jove may come to v/oe her in the dark 5 

She too has beauty that demands a veil, 

O hide her from him or ihe wins him not. 

Reader, mcthinks difpleafure clouds thy brow, 
And Scorn prepares her poiibn'd arrows, perch'd 
On that protruded lip. « Is this the man, 

* The Pow't fings, thatftranger to the world 

* Suffers the fpeedy wick of life to burn 

* E'en to the focket, and the duty done 

* One church affords, the reil of life gives up 
' To felfifli eafe ? Are thefe the nobler fweets 

* Of life domefi:ic ? Was it but for this 
« Alcanor fled the publick walks of life, 

^ And bleftthe ferious caufe that fet him free 

* From Alma-mater's chain ? Nobler it were 
^ To mingle with the bufy world, and be 

^ As others are, than fit at home lupine 
' And fedulous to pleafe himfeif alone. 
' I grant him innocent and free from blame, 
« Yet curfe the bills that centres in itfelf. 
< Give me the man who cannot tafte a joy 



The Village Curate. it 

* That none partakes/ — A truce, my gentle friend^ 

For fuch AJcanor is. Not for himfelf 

He fought the lonely cell remote, and ftor'd 

His humble manfion with refources fweet 

Of intellecflual blifs. To other eyes 

And other ears the lettered page unfolds 

Ambrofial food, the honey of refearch. 

'1 is not to pleafe Alcanor's felf alone. 

Or frantic Dorothy, fo oft is heard 

The melting found of fweet-ton'd harmony. 

In chambers yet unfung three Fairies dwell. 

Each to Alcanor bound, and near in blood, 

But nearer in affection. Julia fhe, 

Who holds the reign of houlliold management. 

And moderates with fldll the lavifh hand 

Of haily Dorothy. EHza next, 

Of afpe6l mild and ever-blooming cheek ; 

Good humour there, and innocence, and health 

Perennial rofes fhed. It is a May 

That never quits her blufh, but flill the fame 

Is feen in Summer, Autumn, Winter, Spring j 

Save when it glows with a fuperior red, 

Kifs'd by the morning breeze, or lighted up 

At found of commendation well-beAow'd 

Under the down-cafl eye of modeft worth. 

That flirinks at its own praife. Ye thoughticfs belles. 



ti The Village Curate, 

That day by day the fafhionable round 
Of dlflipation tread, ftealing from art 
The bludi Eliza owns, to hide a cheek 
Pale and deferted, come, and learn of me 
How to be ever blooming, young, and fair. 
Give to the mind improvement. Let the tongue 
Be fubjeft to the heart and head. Withdraw 
From city fmoke. and trip with agile foot, 
Oft as the day begins, the fteepy down 
Or velvet lawn, earning the bread you eat 
Rife with the lark, and with the lark to bed. 
The breath of night 's deAru«5live to the hue 
Of ev'ry flow'r that blows. Go to the field. 
And aflc the humble daify why it lleeps 
Soon as the fun departs ? Why cljfe the eyes 
Of blofToms infinite, ere the flill moon 
Her oriental vein put off? Think why. 
Nor let the fweetefl blollom be expos'd 
That nature boafts, to night^s unkindly damp. 
Well may it droop, and all its frefhnefs lofe, 
Compell'd to tafle the rank and poisonous lleam 
Of midnight theatre, and morning ball. 
Give to repofe the folemn hour flie claims. 
And from the forehead of the morning fleal 
The fweet occafion. O there is a charm 
The morning has, that gives the brow of age 

2 



The Village Curate. tj 

A fmack of youth, and makes the lip of youth 
Shed perfumes exquifite. Expeft it not, 
Ye who till noon upon a down-bed lie, 
indulging fev'rous fleep, or wakeful dream 
Of happinefs no mortal heart has felt 
But in the regions of romance. Ye fair. 
Like you it muft be woo'd, or never won* 
And being loft, it is in vain y-e a{k 
For milk of rofes and Olympian dew. 
Cofmetic art no tinifture can afford 
The faded feature to reftore : No chaia 
Be it of gold, and ftrong as adamant, 
•Can fetter beauty to the fair one's wilL 

But leave me not the gentle Ifabel 
Unfung, though nature on her cheek no rofc 
Has planted, and the lily bloffom there 
Without a rival — Look v/ithin, and learn 
That nature often on the mind beftows 
What fhc denies the face. — O, flie is kind. 
And gives to ev'ry man his proper gift. 
To make him needful in the land he lives. 
There is not inequality Co ftrange 
'Twixt man and man, as haughty wits fuppofc. 
The beggar treads upon the monarch's heel 
For excellence, and often wears a heart 
c 



14 The Village Curate. 

Of noble temper, under filth and rags : 
"While he that reigns, in fpite of outward pomp, 
Is mean and beggarly within, and far outweighed 
By the offenfive lazar at his gate. 
Th' unletter'd fool that daily fleers the plough, 
With vacai t head, and heart as unimproved 
As the dull brute he drives, gives to the world 
A neceflary good, which all thy pains. 
Ingenious Critic, or thy deep refearch, 
Profound Philofopher, thy preaching, Clerk, 
Thy prattle, Lawyer, or thy grave demurs, 
Coftly Phyfician, hardly fhall exceed. 
The kingly tulip captivates the eye. 
But fmelt we loath, while the fweet violet, 
That little beauty boafls, hid from the fight, 
"With fuch a fragrant perfume hits the fcnfe 
As makes us love ere we behold. And fo 
The gaudy peacock ot the feathered race 
The nobleft feems, till the fweet note be heard 
That nightly cheers the mufing poet's ear 
Under the thorny brake ; and then we grant. 
That little Philomel, {o unadorn'd. 
Needs not the aid of plumes. So, Ifabel, 
Internal worth upon thy cheek befl:ows 
A rofe's beauty, tho' no rofe be there. 
A heart that almoU breaks to be rebuk'd, 



The Village Curate. 15 

A mind inform'd, yet fearful to be feen> 

Kept by a tongue that never but at home, 

And cautious then, its golden truft betrays — 

Thefcare thy charms, and they are charms for me, 

And in my eye as fweet a grace beflow. 

As matchlefs beauty, trick'd in airy fmiles 

And fuit of fantafy, what time fhe trips 

With foot inaudible the fprightly round 

Of fairy dance, outfliining cvVy flar 

And planet of the night. And thefe fhall lafl, 

As morning fair and frefh as amaranth. 

When all thy triumphs, Beauty, are no more. 

Here let us paufe. For learned jockeys fay, 
'Tis good to give one's fteed a morning draught. 
And he that will may whet his whiflle too 
With dram of gin or cordial peppermint. 
The journey fcarce begun. Tedious the way. 
Thro' many a difmal lane, and darkfome wood. 
In flory famous for the murder done 
On nightly traveller. And afk the fot 
Who daily drives the clattering ftage, with face 
Red as a butcher's beef, and coat of proof, 
Lalhing his rawbon'd Iteeds to be in time. 
Now fwearing, drinking now, now cutting jokes* 
Now laughing loud, and now with fiirly heel 
c 2 



i6 The Village Ctirafe* 

Stamping the boot — aflc him, I fay, if drinli 

Be not the foul of labour. What could he. 

The frequent pot denied, the fmiling bowl. 

And ever and again returning dram ? 

Or afk the drunken fool, that all day long 

Or drinks, or lolls upon an alehoufe bench. 

With pot in hand, and thirfly pipe in mouth. 

Sons of Anacreon, fay whence the laugh 

That iliakes the very roof, at ev'ry paufc 

Of the loud fong with Stentrophonic voice 

Bray'd forth ? Or you, ye gallant bucks and bloods 

Say whence your noble exploits, to befet 

Fair Thais, kick the waiter, break the lamps. 

Cry fire, and bid defiance to the watch I 

Join your ihrill pipes,, ye maids of Billingfgate, 

And market dames, and make the chorus full. 

*' O, there is nothing noble to be done 

< Till we have fwallow'd pint on pint. 'Tis drink, 

' And only drink, that makes the world go round/ 

I praife you not ; and if there be a man 
Who thus far has perus'd my carelefs page,. 
In hopes to find a palliative to vice, 
Here let us part. — An enemy to mirth 
Who deems me, does me wrong. I hold it g<K)(^ 
To laugh away a portion of my days^ 



The Village Curate. 17 

And give to mirth her fong, to fport her feather. 
But he that draws his wit to flab at truth, 
And is the friend of folly when he fmiles, 
Has liv'd too long. O let me never be 
Virtue's afTalTin, or the fhield of vice. 
Kind Heaven, if there be an hour fo black 
Yet lodg'd in future time \ O cut me off 
Ere it arrive, and fend me to my grave 
E'en in the pride and glory of my ftrength. 



Yi 



E gentle Pow'rs (if any fuch there bc^ 
And if there be not, 'tis a fweet miflake 
To think there be) that day by day, unfeen, 
Where fouls unanimous, and link'd in love, 
In {ober converfe fpend the vacant hour, 
Hover above, and in the cup of life 
A cordial pour, that all its bitter drowns, 
And gives the hafty minutes as they pafs 
Unwonted fragrance ; come and aid my fong^ 
In that clear fountain of eternal love 



1 8 Tht Village Curate. 

That flows for ay at the right hand of hirrr,. 
The great Incomprehenfible ye ferve, 
Dip my advent' rous pen, that nothing vile. 
Of the chafle eye or ear unworthy, may 
In this my early fang be feen or heard. 

Proceed we then to mark the Curate's fteps^ 
His mode of living, manners, and purfuits. 
As down the fteep declivity of life 
He glides, and haftens to the hungry grave. 
One year the limits of our fong confine. 
From early fpring till fpring return again. 

Then let the mufe begin, when winter yet 
Powders the lawn with fnow, and on our eaves; 
Hangs the chafle icicle. Be that the time, 
When the tir'd fportfman lays his gun afide. 
Nor wages ineffeclual war again 
On partridge race. The day St. Valentine, 
When maids are brilk, and at the break of day 
Start up, and turn their pillows, all agog 
To know what happy fwain the fates provide 
A mate for life. Then follows vafi: difcharge 
Of true-love knots and fonnets nicely penn'd,. 
But to the learned critic's eye no verfe. 
But profe diflra^led, galloping away 



The Village Curate. i^ 

Like yelping cur with kettle at his tail. 

Forgive the thought, ye maids of poeiy, 

And be as kind as fair. A nian may laugh 

And yet approve, and I your pains applaud, 

Tho' fhort of excellence. I love the maid 

That has ambition, and betrays a mind 

Of a<fl:ive and ingenious turn, thatfcorns 

Only to bewhatFafhion acid the age 

Require, and can do more than fiirt her fan. 

Read novels, dance with grace, fmg playhoufe airf^ 

Talk fcandal, daub on vellum or her face. 

Retain fome half-a-dozen terms in French, 

And half as many Englifh, and difpatch 

By cv'ry pofl a tedious manufcript, 

Which to tranflate would crack the very brain 

Of Arabic Profeflbr. O ye fair. 

Ye were defign'd for nobler flights than thefe. 

Nature on you as well as us beflow'd 

The good capacity. And though to us 

She gave the nicer judgment, yet fhe hid 

The fweet defecl in you, with better fliill 

To clothe the fair idea, keener eye, 

And quicker apprehenfion. 'Tis in you 

Imagination glows in all her flrength, 

Gay as the robe of fpring, and we delight 

To fee you pluck her bloffoms, and compofe 



20 The Village Curate, 

The cheerful nofegay for the fwain you love. 

Whatif Alcanor's felf Ihould not difdaln 

To imitate ^^our art, but fometimes hang 

Ill-woven chaplets on Maria's brow, 

That needs no ornament to fet it off 

With better grace. The hour fo fpent fhall live. 

Not uaapplaudedj in the book of heav'n. 

For dear and precious as the moments are, 

Permitted man, they are not all for deeds 

Of a<5tive virtue. Give we none to vice. 

And Heav'n will not ftrift reparation afk 

For many a fiammer's day and winter's eve 

So fpent as beil amufes us. Alas ! 

3f he that made us were extreme to mark 

The trilled hour, what human foul could live I 

Vv^e trifle all, and he that befi deferves 

Is but a triHer. What art thou v/hofe eye 

Follows my pen, or what ami that write ? 

Both triflers. 'Tis a trifling world, from him 

That banquets daintily in fleeves of lawn. 

To him that flarves upon a country cure ; 

From him that is the pilot of a ftate. 

To him that begs, and rather begs than works* 

Then blame we not Alcanor for his pains, 
Nor think him mifemploy'd, what time he fm 



The Village Curate.. 21 

Eager to clothe the new-born thought, and wooe$ 

The maiden Meditation, hard to win. 

For terms of apt fignificance. Nor then, 

"When winter better pleased puts on a fmile. 

And round his garden at high noon he walks. 

Not unattended, and the daffodil 

And early fnowdrop welcomes, penfive flowV* 

Nor needs he then excufe, what time he flarts. 

To mark the progrefs of the morning fun. 

As northward from his equinox he fteers 

And once again brings on the glorious year. 

Sweet are the graces that the Heps attend 

Of early morning, when, the clouded brow 

Of winter fmooth'd, up from her orient couch 

Shefprings, and like a maid betrothed, puts on 

Her bridal fuit, and with an ardent ihiile 

Comes forth to greet her fwain. And to my eye^ 

As well as thine, Alcanor, grateful 'tis. 

Ay, paffing fweet, to mark the cautions pace 

Of flow-returning Spring, e'en from the time 

When fir ft the matted apricot unfolds 

His tender bloom^ till the full orchard glows i 

From when the goofeberry firft (hows a leaf. 

Till the high wood is clad, and the broad oak 

Gives to the fly-flung ox a fhade at noon 

Sun proof. How charming 'tis, to fee fweet May 



22 The Village Curate. 

Laugh in the rear of winter, and put on 
Her gay apparel to begin anew 
The wanton year. See where fhe comes agaia 
As fair, as young, as briik, as when from heav'ii 
Before the author of the world fhe trip'd 
To Paradife rejoicing : the light breeze 
Wafts to the fenfe a thoufand odours > Hark I 
The cheerful mufic that attends. 

O T'an, 
Would on thyfelf alone the awful doom 
Of death had pafl. \'i ^lievcs nc to the foul 
To think how fcon ihe blooming year fhall fade. 
How foon the leafy honours of the vale 
Be died, the bloffom nipt, and the bare branch 
Howl dreary mufic in the ear of winter. 
Yet let us live, and while we may, rejoice. 
And not our prefent joy diflurb, with thought 
Of evils fure to come^ and by no art 
Be fliun'd. 

Come hither, fool, that vainly think^ft 
Thine only is the art to plumb the depth 
Of truth and wifdom. 'Tis a friend that calls, 
And has fome honeft pity left for thee, 
O thoughtlefs flubborn Sceptic. Look abroad, 



The Village Curate. 25 

And tell me, fhall we to blind chance afcribc 

The fcene fo wonderful, fo fair, and good ? 

Shall we no farther fearch than fenfe will lead. 

To find the glorious caufe that fo delights 

The eye and ear, and fcatters all about 

Ambrofial perfumes ? O there is a hand 

That operates unfeen, and regulates 

The vaft machine we tread on. Yes, there is 

Who firfi created the great world, a work 

Of deep coRAru(fliun, complicately wrought. 

Wheel within wheel ; tho' 'tis in vain v/e flrive 

To trace remote effedts thro' the thick maze 

Of movements intricate, confus'd and flrange, 

Up to the gieat Artificer that made. 

And guides the whole. What if we fee him not ? 

No more can we behold the bufy foul 

That animates ourfelves. Man to himfelf 

Is all a miracle. I cannot fee 

The latent caufe, yet fuch I know there is, 

That gives the body motion, nor can tell 

By what ftrange impulfe, the fo ready Umb 

Performs the purpofes of will. How then 

Shall thou or 1, who cannot fpan ourfelves, 

In this our narrow veffel, comprehend 

The being of a God. Go to the fliore, 

Cafl in thy flender angle, and draw out 



14 The Village Curate. 

The huge Leyiathan. Comprefs the deep, 

And fhut it up within the hollow round 

Of the fmall hazel nut. Or freight the fhell 

Of Inail or cockle, with the glorious fun, 

And all the worlds that live upon his beams. 

The goodly apparatus that rides round 

The glowing axle-tree of heaven. Then come. 

And I will grant *t\s thine to fcale the height 

Of wifdom infinite, and comprehend 

Secrets incomprehenfible ; to know 

There is no Ood, and what the potent caufc 

That the revolving univerfe upholds. 

And not requires a deity at hand. 

O tell me not, moll fubtle difputant. 
That I (hall die, the wick of life confum'd. 
And fplte of all my hopes drop in the grave. 
Never to ri^e again. Will the great God, 
Who thus by annual miracle reftores 
The perifh'd year, and youth and beauty gives, 
By refurreclion ftrange, where none was afk'd. 
Leave only man to be the fcorn of time 
And fport of death ? Shall only he one fpring, 
One hafty fummer, and one autumn fee. 
And then to winter irredeemable 
Be doom'd, caft out, rejected, and defpis'd ? 

2 



The Village Curaie. 

Tell me not fo, or by thyfelf enjoy 

The melancholy thought. Am I deceiv'd ? 

So let me be for ever. If I err, 

It is an error fweet and lucrative. 

For fhould not heaven a farther courfe intend 

Than the fhort race of life, lam at leafl: 

Thrice happier than thee, ill-boding fool, 

Who flriv'il in vain the awful doom to fiy 

That I not fear. But \fhall live again, 

And ilill on that fweet hope (hall my foul fcQ<^. 

A medicine it is, that with a touch 

Heals all the pains of life ; a precious balm. 

That makes the tooth of forrow venoiTilcfsj 

And of her hornet fling {o keen dlfarms 

Cruel Adverfity 

A truce to thought. 
And come, Alcanor, Julia, Ifabel, 
Eliza come, and let us o'er the fields, 
Acrofs the down, or thro' the fhelving xvoGd\ 
Wind our uncertain way. Let fancy lead, 
And be it ours to follow, and admire. 
As well we may, the graces infinite 
Of nature. Lay afide the fweet refource 
That winter needs, and may at will obtain, 
Of authors chafle and good, and let us read 

D 



26 The Village C urate. 

The living page, whofe ev'ry chara^ler 

Delights and gives us wifdom. Not a tree, 

x\ plant, a leaf, a bloITom, but contains 

A folio volume. We may read and read 

And read again, and flill find fomething new. 

Something to pleafe, and fomething to inftrucl-. 

E'en in the noifome weed. See, ere we pals 

Alcanor's threfhold, to the curious eye 

A little monitor prefents her page 

Of choice inflru^lion, with her fnowy bells 

The lily of the vale. She nor affefts 

The public walk, nor gaze of mid-day fun : 

She to no ftate or dignity afpires. 

But fjlentand alone puts on her fuit, 

And (beds her lading perfume, but for which 

"We had not known there was a thing fo fweet 

Hid in the gloomy Oiade. So when the blail 

Her filler tribes confounds, and to the earth 

Sloops their high heads that vainly were expos'd. 

She feels it not, but flourifhes anew, 

Still iliclter'd and fecure. And fo the ftorm 

That makes the high elm couch, and rends the oak, 

The humble lily fparcs. A thoufand blows 

That Qiake the lofty monarch on his throne. 

We lelTer folks feel not. Keen are the pains 

Advancement often brings. To be fecure, 



The Village Curate. 

Be humble; to be happy, be content. 
'Tis not all gold, Eliza, that the eye 
Delights in. To command a coach and fix, 
Be hight my Lady^ or year Gracey to lead 
In fafliion, iliine at court, be clothed in fiik, 
And make an artificial day, thick fet 
With eyc-difrrafting jewels, are but chains 
That lift you from the crowd, to be the mock 
Of hiffing envy -, fleps they are, that lead 
Unwary maids to fortune's pillory, 
To be the butt of undeferv'd reproach 
And lying flander. Have you not obferv'd 
The idle fchool-boy, through a field of wheat 
Scarce ripe, returning home, with what delight 
He trims a fwitch, and ftrikes at the full car 
Moft emjnent, and flill walks on and ftrikes ? 
So Fortune fports with you, ye great, and Alll 
As one above another climbs, condemns. 
And makes him fhorter by the head. Plappy, 
No doubt, Alcanor were, {hould it fo chance 
An eddy feize him in the ftream of life. 
And vyhirl him to a throne, of all this ifle 
Grand Metropolitan ; but truft me. Sir, 
Nor Laud, nor Tillotfon would floop again 
To bear the golden v/eight. Only with him. 
Sweet peace abounds, and only he efcapes 

P 2 



2 8 'IhC ]'iiUige Curate, 

Tihe poifon'd fnafts of obloquy and wrong, 
"Who hides his virtue in content ; and like 
This modefl: lily, wins our belt regard 
By leeklng to avoid it. Virtue too 
Will ever thus her lone rctre^it betray, 
And, fpite of privacy, be fought and feen ; 
For flie has fragrance that delights the fenfc 
Of Men and Angels, yea, of God hiinfeif.— 

But come, we loiter. Pafs unnotic'd by 
The Deepy crocus, and the flaring daify. 
The courtier of the fun. What fee we there ? 
The love-fick cowflip, that her head inclines 
To hide a bleeding heart. And here's the meek 
And foft-eyed primrofe. Dandelion this, 
A college youth that iladies for a day- 
All gold •, auon he dotTs his gaudy fait, 
Touch'd by the magic hand of fome grave Bifhop, 
And all at once, by comrnutaticn flrange, 
Becomes a Reverend Divine. How fieek ! 
How full of grace ! and in that globous wig 
So nicely trim'd, unfathomable ftores, 
No doubt, of erudition moft profound : 
Each hair is learned, and his awful phiz, 
A well-drawn title-page, gives large account 
Of matters flrangely complicate within. 



The Village Curate. 29 

Place the two do(5lors each by each, m}^ friends. 
Which is the better ? fay. I blame not you, 
Ye powder'd periwigs, that hardly hide, 
Whh glofly fuit and well-fed paunch to boot. 
The iinderftanding lean and beggarly. 
But let me tell you, in the pompous globe 
That rounds the dandelion's head, is couch'd 
Divinity mofl rare. I never pafs 
But heinftrufls me with a ftill difcourfe, 
That more perfuades than all the vacant noife 
Of pulpit rhetoric ; for vacant 'tis. 
And vacant mufl it be, by vacant heads 
Supported. 

Leave we them to mend, and mark 
The melancholy hyacinth, that weeps 
All night, and never lifts an eye all day. 

How gay this meadow — like a gamefome boy 
New-cloth'd, his locks fredi comb'd and powder'd, he 
All health and fpirits. Scarce fo many flars 
Shine in the azure canopy of heav'n. 
As king-cups here are fcatter'd, interfpers'd 
With filver daifies. 

See, the toiling fwain 
With many a fturdy ilroke cuts up at lafl 

-^ 3 



30 The Village Curate, 

The tough and fmewy furze. How hard he fought 

To win the glory of t-he barren wafte. 

For what more noble than the vernal furze 

With golden bafliets hung ? Approach it not. 

For ev'ry bloflfomhas a troop of fwords 

Drawn to defend it. 'Tis the treafury 

Of Fays and Fairies. Here they nightly meet. 

Each with a burnifh'd king-cup in his hand. 

And quaff the fubtil ether. Here they dance 

Or to the village chimes, or moody fong 

Of midnight Philomel. The ringlet fee 

Fantaftically trod.' There, Oberon 

His gallant train leads out, the while his torch 

The glow-worm lights and dufky night illumes. 

And there they foot it featly round, and laugh. 

The facred fpot the fuperftitious ewe 

Regards, and bites it not in reverence. 

Anon the drowfy clock tolls One — the cock 

His clarion founds — the dance breaks off — the lights 

Are quench'd — the mufic hufli'd — they fpeed away 

Swifter than thought, and flill the break of day 

Outrun, and chafing midnight as fhe flies 

Purfue her round the globe. So Fancy weaves 

Her flimfy web, while fober reafon fits, 

And Imiling wonders at the puny work, 

A net for her j then fprings on eagle wing, 



The Village Citrate, - 31: 

Conflraint defies, and loars above the fun. 

Not always fuch her flight. For croaking dames 

And filly mothers oft confpire to clip 

Her infant wing, and feed her full with fears. 

Till all her energy expires, and flie, 

Caught in the fnare of fancy, lives and quakes 

Pris'ner for life. O thoughtlefs managers ! 

See where the flcy-blue periwinkle climbs 
Up to the cottage eaves, and hides the loam 
And dairy lattice with a thoufand eyes, 
Pentagonally form'd, to mock the fkili 
Of proud geometers. See there the fern 
Unclenching all her fingers, to didra^ft 
The plodding theorift, who little fees, 
And tortures reafon for the refl. Behold, 
And trufl: him not, the feed. So idle boys 
Delight in bubbles. So rank errors live. 
Truth dies, and ev'ry day we need a Brown 
To fet a jangling world to rights. 

No more : 
But mark with how peculiar grace, yon wood 
That clothes the weary fleep, waves in the breeze 
Her fea of leaves j thither we turn our fteps, 
And by the way attend thechearful found 



22 The Village Curate. 

Of woodland harmony that always fills 
The merry vale between. How fweet the fong 
Day's harbinger attunes ! I have not heard 
Such elegant divifions drawn from art. 
And what is he that wins our admiration ? 
A little fpeck that floats upon the f«n-beam, 
What vafl: perfedicn cannot nature crowd 
Into a 'puny point ! The nightingale, 
Her folo anthem fung, and all that heard 
Content, joins in the chorus of the day. 
She, gentle heart, thinks it no pain to pleafc, 
Nor, like the moody fongilers of the world, 
Juft fliev/s her talent, pleafes, takes affront, 
And locks it up in envy. 

Now we hear 
The golden wood-pecker, that like the fool 
Laughs loud at nothing. Now the refllefs pye, 
So pert and garrulous. A goflip fne, 
And (lie has been to tovvu to learn the ne\^-s. 
O you fliall hear her tell, how being hid 
In goody Grabfon's beans, fhe overheard 
The tattling dames relate. « Lord, what d'ye think I 
« The Parfon's to be married — Betty Bounce 
« Will foon be brought to-bed— the 'Squire is fick-^ 
* Julia has parted with her maid — they fay 



-The Village Curate, 33 

< Eliza paints, and Ifabel's a fnrew — 

* More taxes yet — tlie minifler's a fool — 

< Corn will be cheap — what (hall we farmers do ?— * 
« My lady Bountiful has had a fit — 

* Ay, let her die — they fay (he means to leave 

* A fortune to the poor — good reft to her foul — 

* She is no better than fhe fhould be — that 

' 'Twixt you and I — / And fo from morn to nigh£ 

Your fcandal-monger prates, and tells you all 

The fecret fprings that afluate the ftate, 

The mdnifter, the people. She can fee. 

With half an eye, who ftands, who falls, who rifes ; 

Who little merits, and who beft deferves. 

And fo flic murders truth, and propagates 

The public lie, extorting many a tear 

And many a figh from wounded innocence. 

O, Ifabel, if ev'ry idle word 

Have weight in heav'n, what deed fo rarely good 

Can turn the fcale in favour of that fool, 

Who prattles injury, and worth defames. 

From gay fifteen to tremulous fourfcore ! 

Hark, how the cuckoo mocks the village bells* 
The jay attend, a very termagant 
That fcolds all day. Yes, Hie has wedded been 
A full three weeks, and would be maid again. 



34 The Village Curate. 

Obferve the glofTy raven in the grafs 
Making rude courtfliip to his negro mate. 

he's a flatterer, and in his fong. 

If fuch it may be call'd, her charms recites. 
He tells her of her bofom black as jet. 
Her taper Itg, her penetrating eye. 
Her length of beak, her foft and filky wing, 
Her voice fo tunable ; then waddles round, 
Begins again, and hopes flie will be -kind. 
But all in vain. Alarm'd, he claps his wing 
And flies j flie much againfl her will purfues. 

I love to fee the little goldfinch pluck 
The groundfil's fcather'd feed, and twit and twit 
And then in bow'r of apple bioflbms perch'd, 
Trim his gay fuit, and pay us with a fong. 

1 would not hold him pris'ner for the world. 

The chimney-haunting fwallow too, my eye 
And ear well pleafes. I delight to fee 
How fuddenly he fkims the glafly pool. 
How quaintly dips, and with a bullet's fpeed 
Whiflcs by. 1 love to be awake, and hear 
His morning fong twitter'd to young-eyed day. 

But mofl of all it wins my admiration. 
To view the flruflure of this little work^ 



The Village Curate, 35 

A bird's neil. IVkrk It well, within, without. 
No tool, had he that wrought, no knife to cut. 
No nail to fix, no bodkin to inlert. 
No glue to joia ; his little beak was all. 
And yet how neatly finifh'd. What nice hand 
With ev'ry implement and means of art. 
And twenty years apprenticefhip to boot, 
Could make me fuch another ? Fondly then 
We boaft of excellence, whofe nobleft fkill 
Inftindlive genius foils. 

The bee obferve ; 
She too an artill: is, and laughs at man 
Who calls on rules the fightly hexagon 
With truth to form \ a cunning architecfi:. 
That at the roof begins her golden work, 
And builds without foundation. How fhe toils, 
And ilill from bud to bud, from flow'r to flowV; 
Travels the livelong day. Ye idle drones, 
That rather pilfer than your bread obtain 
By honefl means like thefe, look here, and learn 
How good, how fair, how honourable 'tis 
To live by induflry. The bufy tribes 
Of bees {o emulous, are daily fed 
Yv^ith heaven's peculiar m.anna. 'Tis for themj 
Unwearied alchymifts, the blooming world 



3 6 The Village Curate. 

Ne<fl:arions gold diftils. And bounteous heav'n, 
Still to the diligent and a6live good. 
Their very labour makes the certain caufe 
Of future wealth. The little traveller 
That toils fo cheerfully from flow'r to flow'r, 
For ever finging as (he goes, herfelf 
Bears on her wings and thighs the genial dufl 
The barren blofTom needs, and the young feed 
Impregnates for herfelf, elfe unprolific. 
I cannot love thy art, hard-hearted man. 
That teaches to depopulate the hive. 
And with the death of thoufands win unhurt 
The precious treafures induftry had earn'd. 
O burglary, how bafe, and back'd withal 
With murder ! But what- links of law can bind 
Imperious appetite, a haughty fleed. 
That having rang'd his pafture free as air, 
Difdains the bit, and mounted once again, 
Runs madly on, high overleaps all bounds, 
And flings his rider to an early grave. 

How peaceable and folemn a retreat 
This wood affords. I love to quit the glare 
Of fultry day for fliadows cool as thefe. 
The fober twilight of this winding way. 
Lets fall a ferious gloom upon the mind 



The ViUa'^c Cia-ate. 37 

That checks, but not appalls. Such are the haunts 
Religion loves, a meek and humble maid 
Whofc tender eye bears not the blaze of day. 
And here with Meditation hand in hand 
She walks, and feels her often wounded heart 
Renew'd and heal'd. Speak foftly, we intrude. 
A whifper is too loud for folitude 
So mute and flill. 

So have I gone at night, 
When the faint eye of day was hardly closed. 
And turn'd the grating key that kept the door 
Of church or chapel, to enjoy alone 
The mournful horrors that impending night 
And painted windows fhed, along the dark 
And fcarce to be diflinguifliM aifle. My foot 
Has flood and paus'd, half ftartled at the found 
Of it's own tip-toe pace. Fve held my breath, 
And been offended that my nimble heart 
Should throb {q audibly. I would not hear 
Aught elfe difturb the filent reign of death, 
Save the dull ticking of a reftlefs clock. 
That calls me home, and leads the thoughtful foul 
Through mazes of refleiHrion, till fhe feels 
For w^hat and whom flie lives. Ye timid fair, 
I never faw the (heeted ghofl Ileal by, 

£ 



38 The Village Curate. 

I never heard th' unprifon'd dead complain 
And gibber in my ear, though I have lov*d 
The yawning time of night, and travel'd round 
And round again the manfions of the dead. 
Yet I have heard, what fancy well might deem 
Sufficient proof of both, the prowling owl 
Sweep by, and with a hideous (hriek awake 
The church-yard echo, and I too have flood 
Harrow'd and fpeechlefs at the difmal found. 
But here fhe frights us not. Such fcenes as thefe 
No ghojft frequents. If any fpirits here. 
They are as gentle as the eve of day. 
And only come to turn our wand'ring fleps 
From lurking danger. With what eafy grace 
This footway winds about. Shew me defigns 
That pleafe us more. What flri(5V geometer 
Can carve his yew, his quickfet, or his box, 
To half its elegance ? I would not fee 
A thoufand paces on, nor have my way 
Too ftriflly ferpentine. If there be art. 
Let it be hid in nature. Wind the path. 
But be not bound to follow Hogarth's line. 
I grant it beauty, but too often feen. 
That beauty pleafes not. I love to meet 
A fudden turn Hke this, that flops me fhort, 
Extravagantly devious, and invites 



The Village Curate, 39 

Or np the bill or down ; then winds again. 

By reeling drunkard trod, and all at once 

Ends in a green-fward waggon way, that like 

Cathedral aide completely roof M with branches, 

Runs thro' the gloomy wood from top to bottom. 

And has at either end a gothic door 

"Wide open. Yet we tarry not, nor tread 

With hardly fenfible advance the way 

That mocks our toil ; but having gazM awhile 

At tlie flill view below, the living fcene 

Inimitable nature has hung up 

At the vault's end, w^e difappear again. 

And follow fliir the flexile path, conceal'd 

In fiiady underwood. Nor fometimes fcorn 

Under the high majeftic oak to fit. 

And comment on his leaf, his branch, his arm. 

Paternally extended, his vaft girth, 

And ample hoop above. To him that loves 

To walk with contemplation, ev'ry leaf 

AfFords a tale concluding with a moral. 

The very hazel has a tongue to teach, 

The birch, the maple, horn-beam, beech, and afli. 

But thefe detain us not, for the faint fun 
Puts on a milder countenance, and Ikirts 
The undulated clouds that crofs his way 
E 2 



40 "The Village Curaie, 

With glory vlfible. His axle cools, 

And his broad difk, tho' ferventj not intenfe, 

Foretells the near approach of matron night. 

Ye fair, retreat ! Your drooping flowers need 

Wholefotne refrefhment. Down the hedge-row path 

We hadcn home, and only flack onr fpeeci 

To gaze a moment at the 'cullom'd gap, 

That sli fo unexpeftcdly prefents 

The clear cerulean profpe^fl down the vale. 

Difpers'd along the bottom flocks and herds, 

1-Iay-ricks and cottager,, befide a ilream 

That filverly meanders here and there ; 

And higher up, corn-fields, and paftures, hops, 

And v/aving woods, and tufts, and lonely oaks, 

Thick interfpers'd as nature bed: was pleas'd. 

I could not pafs this view, nor flay to feaft. 

Vox all the wealth of In J. Ingenious painter, 

Why lea re a land fo delicately cloth'd 

To gather beauties on a foreign fliore ? 

Twas here my Shakefpear caught his living art. 

And who can paint like him ? To Britifh ex^es 

Shev/ Britiili beauties. Who can choofe but love 

Paint me the fair ones of my native ille ; 

Your canvafs fhall have charms no time can kill, 

The foreign belle, though fair, attra(fts me not. 



The Village Curate. , '41 

Another moment paufe, and to the vale 
Look back from the calm height we tread. See wher 
The gamefome fchool-boys, once again difmifs'd, 
Feel all the fweets of liberty, and drive 
The fpeedy hours away at the briPxC game 
Of focial cricket. It delights me much 
To fee them run, and hear the chearful fhout 
Sent up for vidlory — I cannot tell 
What rare effe<51: the mingled found may yield, 
Of huntfmen, hounds, and horns, to the firm, hear 
That never feels a pain for flying pufs j 
To me it gives a pleafure far more fweet. 
To hear the cry of infant jubilee 
Exulting thus. Here all is innocent, 
And free from pain, which the refounding chafe^ 
With all its fturdy clamours cannot drown, 
E'en tho' it pour along a thund'ring peal, 
Strong as the deep artillery of heav'n. 

Now turn, and from the plcafant fummit view 
Alcanor's cell. Before, the garden fee 
So trim and fpruce ; behind, the vafl domain 
Of cow and truant poney, that approves 
All paflures but his own. Seen thro' the treesj, 
It fecms; methinks, a parti-colour'd fpot 
^3 



4* I'he Village Curate, 

Upon a fampler little Mifs has work'd 

To pleafe her grandam. Love it ftill, ye fair, 

Enjoy it flill, Alcanor. Here who will 

May feel a {litisfa(5lion truly fwcet, 

That York or Lambeth cannot give. Who flrays, 

Shall tafle a thoufand pains unfelt at home. 

V7e fondly think the land of happinefs 

Is any where but here. And fo we quit 

The little blii& we ov/n for lefs, and learn 

From painful circumftancej the more we flray, 

The more we want relief. The troubled heart 

That harbours difcontent, feeds a difeafe 

No change of place, no medicine can cure. 

Happy the man who truly loves his home, 

And never wanders farther from his door 

Than we have gone to-day ; who feels his heart 

Still drawing homeward, and delights like us 

Once more to reft his foot on his ov/n threfliold. 

Alcanor, Julia, Ifabel, Eliza, 
Here let us paufe, and ere flill night advance 
To fhut the books of heav'n, look back and ^tt 
What commendable a£l has fprung to-day. 
Ah ! who can boafl: ? the Uttle good we do 
In all the years of life will fcarce outweigh 



The Village Ciirais, 4S 

The follies of an hour. Let this fulfice, 
We had a heart that was inclin'd to do, 
Much better than we did. 

Adieu, ye fair, 
We leave you to your tafk, nor give you aid 
As wont. Rcar'd by your hands alone, the flow'r 
Shall have a ruddier blu(h, a fweeter fragrance. 
Alcanor come, and let us once again 
Defcend into the valley, and enjoy 
The fober peace of the flill fummer's eve. 
Y/e have no bluPa to lofe ; our freckled cheek 
The fun not blifters, nor the night-dew blafls. 
Such is the time the mufmg poet loves. 
Now vigorous imagination teems, 
And, warm with meditation, brings t© birth 
Her admirable -thought. I love to hear 
The filent rook to the high wood make way 
With hiffing wing ; to mark the wanton moufe, 
And fee him gambol round the primrofe head, 
'Till the flill owl comes fmoothly failing by. 
And with a fhrill to-ivhit breaks off his dance. 
And fends him fcouring home ; to hear the cur 
Of the night-loving partridge, or the fwell 
Of the deep curfew from afar. And now 
It pleafes me to mark the hooting owl, 



44 ^^-'^ Village Curate, 

Perch'd on the naked hop-pole, to attend 

The diftant catara6l, or farmer's cur 

That bays the northern lights or rifiag moon. 

Then let me fleal along the woody lane, 

To hear thy fong fo various, gentle bird. 

The queen of night, tranfporting Philomel ; 

I name thee not to give my feeble lines 

A grace elfe wanted, for I love thy fong, 

And often have I flood to heai thee fmg, 

When the clear moon, with Cytherean fmile, 

Emerging from an eaftern cloud, has (hot 

A look of pure benevolence and joy 

Into the heart of night. Yes, I have Hood 

And mark'd thy varied note, and frequent paufe. 

Thy brifk and melancholy mood, with heart 

Sincerely pleas'd. And, Oh ! methought, no note 

Can equal thine, fweet bird, of all that fing, 

How eafiiy the chief! Yet have I heard 

What pleafes me flill more : the human voice 

In ferious fweetnefs flowing from the heart 

Of unaffcfted woman. I could hark 

Till the round world difTolv'd, to the pure flraia 

Love teaches, gentle Modefly infpires. 

But teaze me not, ye felf-conceited fools. 

Who with a loud, infuffcrable fquall 

lufult our ears, or hum a noifekfs tunc. 



The Village Curate. 45 

Difdaiaing to be heard j the while ye grin, 
To fiiew a let of teeth newly repair'd, 
Or (hrink and (hrug, to make the crov/d adrnirc 
Your iirange grimaces pratSlis'd at the glafs. 

! I abhor it. 1 had rather hear 

A pedlar's kit befcrape a dancing dog. 

Melodious bird, good night \ good night Alcanor. 
Let us not trefpafs on the hours of rcll, 
For we muft fleal from morning to repay them. 
And who would lofe the animated fmils 
Of dawning day, for th' auftcre frown of night ? 

1 grant her well accoutred in her fuit 

Of dripping fable, powder'd thick with Hars, 

And much applaud her as fhe paffes by 

With a replenifli'd horn en either brow •, 

But more I love to fee awaking day 

Rife with a fluder'd cheek ; a careful maid 

That fears Ihe has outHept the 'cuflcm'd hour, 

And leaves her chamber blufliing. Hence to refl ; 

I will not prattle longer to detain ycu 

Under the dewy canopy of night. 

So have I fung Alcanor and the fair. 
Thro' the flow walk and leng beloiter'd day 
Of early fummer. Let him read that will; 



4-6 The Village Curate. 

And blame me not, if in an afternoon 

I hardly ftray a fmgle mile from home. 

It is my humour. Let him fpeed that will, 

And fly like cannon-fhot from poft to poll j 

I love to ftop, and quit the public road, 

To gain a fummit, take a view, or pluck 

An unknown blo/Tom. What if I difmount. 

And leave my fleed to graze the while I fit 

Under the pleafani lee, or idly roam 

Athwart the paflure, diligent to mark 

What paiTes next ? 'Tis Englifli blood that flows 

Under the azure covert of thefe veins. 

I love my hberty ; and if I flng. 

Will flng to pleafe myfelf, bound by lio rule. 

The fubje6l of no law. — I cannot think 

The path of excellence is only hit 

By fervile imitation. In a path 

Peculiarly his own great Handel went, 

And juflly merits our applaufe, tho' not 

The Homer of his art. In a new path 

Went Shakefpear, nobly launching forth, 

And who fliall fay he has not found perfeflion, 

Tho' not a Sophocles. Ye fliallow wits, 

Who bid us coaft it in the learned track, 

Nor quit the fight of iliore, there is "in art 

A world unknown, wliofe treafures only he 



The Village Curate, 47 

Shall fpy, and well deferve, who proudly fcorns 

The withet'd laurel, and exulting fleers 

Far from the cuftom'd way. My flender bark 

Perchance has rufh'd into a boifl'rous fea 

That foon fhall overwhelm her : yet I fear 

No florms the furious elements can roufe. 

And if I fail, {hall deem it noble flill 

To founder in a brave attempt. Once more 

The cheerful breeze fets fair ; we fill our fail 

And feud before It. When the critic flarts, 

And angrily unties his bags of wind. 

Then we lay to, and let the blaft go by. « 



/\T once we rufh into the heart of June, 
And find Alcanor at the noon of day 
Laborious in his garden. The warm fun 
Is clouded, and the flufluating breeze 
Calls him from nicer labour, to attend 
The vegetable progrefs. Mark we now 
A thoufand great efFecfls that fpring from toll, 
Unfung before. The martial pea obferve. 
In fquare battalion rang'd, line after line 



48 The Village Curat:. 

Succefiive ; the gay bean, her hindmofl ranks 
Stript of their bloflbms ; the thick-fcatter'd bed 
Of foporlfic lettuce \ the green hill 
Cover'd with cucumbers. All thefe and more, 
As carrots, parfnips, onions, cabbages, 
Potatoes, turnips, radifhes, my Mufe 
Difdalns not. She can ftray well-pleas'd, and pluck 
The odVous leaf of marjoram, baum, or mint ; 
Then fmile to think how near the neighbourhood 
Of rue and wormwood, in her thoughtful eye 
Refembllng life, that ever thus brings forth 
In quick fucceflion bitter things and fweet. 
Nor fcorns fhe to obferve the thriving fage, 
That well becomes the garden of a clerk ; 
The wholefome camomile, and fragrant thyme. 
Ail thefe thy pains, Alcanor, propagate, 
Support, and feed. Let the fat Do(Slor laugh. 
Who only toils to fatisfy the calls 
Of appetite infatiate, and retires, 
Good honeft foul, offended at the Vv'orW, 
Of pure devotion, to his pipe and pot. 
And whiffs and (leeps his idle hours awa5^ 
O ! let him laugh. A life of labour yields 
Sweeter enjoyment than his gouty limbs 
Have fenfe to feel. It gives the body health, 
Agility, and ftrength, and makes it proof 
2 



l^he Village Curate, 4^ 

Againil the fang of pain. It flops the courfe 
Of prodigal contagion, fcares away 
The fcythe of time, and turns the dart of death. 
And hence the mind unwonted force derives j 
Recruited oft by labour, to her work 
Strong as a giant fhe returns, and rolls 
Her Sifyphsean ball with wond'rous eafe 
Up to the mountain's top. O 'tis the foul 
Of poefy and wit ! Then follow ftill 
The happy tafk, nor fcorn to feel, Alcanor, 
How paffing grateful 'tis to reap the fruits 
Of willing toil. The board of induflry. 
By her own labour frugally fupplied, 
Gives to her food an admirable zefl. 
Unknown to indolence, that half afleep 
With palatelefs indifference furveys 
The fmoking feaft of plenty. 

I have flray'd 
Wild as the mountain bee, and cuU'd a fwecl 
From ev'ry flow'r that beautified my way. 
Ah ! how could I forget thy charms fo long, 
SurpafTmg Dorothy, the fweetefl thing 
Thefe bitter times afford. O let me feek 
Thee fairefl, fouleft of the human race. 
And fmg thy beauties, like the flinglefs dronc^ 



/;o The Village Curate. 

ill 

That, driven from the hive, a refuge feeks •! 

Ill the dank fewer or fane of Cloacm ! 

See where (lie goes with vaft becoming ftrides, 

And man-hke majefty, fwinging her arms, | 

Alternate pendulums, that heavily 

Move to and fro, as I have feen in towns 

The handles of a pump. Who would not love-? 

Celeftial maid, my charming aon-pareil. 

Turn to the fupplicating voice that wooes, 

And fhed one fweet and foul-reviving fmile 

Upon a captive poet. Let me fee 

Yet once again the formidable row. 
From ear to ear, of never-cleanfed teeth 
In falFron uniform. O let me fee 

Thy broad hyfleric grin, thy fhining face. 

And greafy locks, nor ever follow thus 

Unheard, thy flip- (hod and undarned heel. 

Come, let me place thee by the flaunting belle 

That trips it lightly to the city ball. 

Stay, airy madam, why fo hafly ? flay. 

And learn who befl deferves, or thou, or flie. 

Is Dorothy uncleanly ? fo art thou. 

Her teeth are all her own, thine falfc and borrow'd. 

And fliould flie to a meagre dentifl pawn 

The comely row, 'tis ten to one thy lips 

Receive them next. O filthy ufurpation ! 



The Village Curate, 51 

Who dares approach the lips of Dorothy, 

Shall find no doubt a healthful breath behind. 

Who thee falutes, by that fair month indnc'd. 

Shall be aftounded at the foetid flench 

That ilTues from it. Health and youth are fled, 

And all their odors gone, feJiic'd away 

By late debauch. Say, is that cheek thine own, 

Or borrow'd from the pencil ? Has no art 

Been bufy there to make the roft: revive ? 

Is all that fairnefs thine ? No, fqnalid wretch 3 

Thy hue is hateful :— But for thy perfumes. 

And the kind aid of paint and fweet pomade, 

We could not live within a thoufand leagues 

Of fuch a fearful peft. The fhining face 

Of gracelefs Dorothy, tho' far, far fiiort 

Of what we deem mofl fair and worthy touch 3 

Outdoes thy plaifter'd cheek, as much as flie 

May be herfelf outdone. Thofe greafy locks. 

That hang in ropes from her once-whiter cap. 

Grew on the head they grace. But where grew thine ? 

Bought of fome loufy wench that would have bread 

Nor be at pains to earn it, or purloln'd 

At midnight hour from a new-buried corpfe. 

In rags is Dorothy, in filk art thou ; 

I^ut fhe in rags is honefl: ; knavifli, lewd, 

And difcontent art thou, tho' clad in filk. 



^2 The Village Curate. 

Change drefs, and who excels ? Or fearch the mind, 

And fee who triumphs there ? It may be thine 

To fpeak a diale6l to her unknown, 

To hfp in terms of fafhion, and retail 

A few mean fcraps of French ; but, truft me, fhe 

Her native language underllands as well, 

Lefs taught. She too can boafl a flore as large 

Of ufeful knowledge, for ye both have none. 

But ignorance in her was the hard lot 

Of ftridl necefTity : — She could not buy 

Golden improvement, for fhe finds the day 

Scarce equal to her toil, tho' all ilie aflvS 

Ee bread. In you diftallc and idlenefs. 

Money and time ill-fpent, were all the caufe. 

Thy care was only to be gay without, 

And beggarly within. For what know you 

Of Virtue, or Religion, or aught elfe 

Deferving praife ? You write, perhaps you read : 

To what good purpofe ? To corrupt the foul, 

And give it back to him who gave it you. 

So fpotted as to make his angels bludi. 

And caufe the Deity himfelf to turn 

And hide his countenance. O blame not time ! 

The mind that thirfts no obftacle can thwart. 

It has a thoufand iliifts to fink the mine 

And purify its gold. You may be fliffj 



The Village Curate* 53 

And look on Dolly with difdaiiiful eye, 

But (he's your equal here, and you mull: (land 

Much after her in heav'n. 

Is there a man 
For wifdom eminent ? feek him betimes, 
He will not fhun thee, though thy frequent foot 
Wear out the pavement at his door. Ye fair, 
Be fedulous to win the man of fenfe *, 
And fly the empty fool. Shame the dull boy 
Who leaves at college what he learnt at fchool. 
And whips his academic hours away, 
Cas'd in unwrinklcd buck-fl-iin and tight boots. 
More fludious of his hunter than his books. 
O ! had ye fenfe to fee what powder'd apes 
Ye oft admire, the idle boy for fliame 
IVould lay his racket and his mafl afide. 
And love his tutor and his de(k. Time was 
When evVy woman was a judge of arms 
And military exploit : 'twas an age 
Of admirable heroes. And time was 
When women dealt in Hebrev/, Latin, Greek ^ 
No dunces then, but all were deeply learn'd. 
I do not wifh to fee the female eye 
Waile all its luflre at the midnight lamp ; 
I do not wliih to fee the female cheek 



54 ^he Village Curate, 

Grow pale with application. Let their care 
Be to preferve their beauty •, that fecur'd, 
Improve the judgment, that the loving fair 
May have an eye to know the man of worth, 
And keep fecure the jewel of her charms 
From him that ill deferves. Let the fpruce beau. 
That lean, fweet-fcented, and palav'rous fool, 
Who talks of honour and his fword, and plucks 
The man that dares advife him by the nofe ; 
That puny thing that hardly crawls about, 
Reduc'd by wine and women, yet drinks on, 
And vapours loudly o'er his glafs, refolv'd 
To tell a tale of nothing, and outfwear 
The northern tempefl ; let that fool, I fay. 
Look for a v/ife in vain, and live defpis'd. 

I would that all the fair ones of this ifle 
Were fuch as one I knew. Peace to her foul. 
She lives no more. And I a genius need 
To paint her as fhe was. Moil like, methinks. 
That amiable maid the poet drew, 
Stealing a glance from heav'n, and caliM her Portia. 
Happy the man, and happy fure he was, 
So wedded. Blefl: with her, he wander'd not 
To feek for happinefs •, 'twas his at home. 
How often have I paiis'd, and chain'd my tongue, 



The Village Curate, 55 

To hear the mufic of her fober words [ 

How often have I wonderM at the grace 

Inflrudlion borrow'd from her eye and cheek ! 

Surely that maid is worth a nation's gold. 

Who has fuch rich refources in herfelf 

From them ihe rears. A mother well inform*d 

Entails a bleffing on her infant charge 

Better than riches \ an unfailing crufe 

She leaves behind her, which the fafler flows 

The more 'tis drawn ; where ev'ry foul may feed^ 

And nought diminilh of the public llock. 

Shew me a maid fo fair in all your ranks. 
Ye crowded boarding-fchools. Are ye not apt 
To taint the infant mind, to point the way 
To fafhionable folly, flrew with flow'rs 
The path of vice, and teach the wayward child 
Extravagance and pride ? Who learns in you 
To be the prudent wife, the pious mother ? 
To be her parents' flafF, or hufl^and's joy ? 
'Tis you diffolve the links that once held fafl 
Domeflic happinefs. 'Tis you untie 
The matrimonial knot •, 'tis you divide 
The parent and his child. O ! 'tis to you 
We owe the ruin of our deareft blifs. 
The beft inflrudor for the growing lafa 



56 The Village Curate, 

Is flie that bare her. Let her firfl be taught. 
And we fhall fee the path of virtue fmooth 
With often treading. She can beft difpenfc 
That frequent medicine the foul requires. 
And make it grateful to the tongue of youth, 
By mixture of afFe(5lion. She can charm 
When others fail, and leave the work undone. 
She will not faint, for (he inftrufts her own. 
She will not torture, for flie feels herfelf. 
So education thrives, and the fweet maid 
Improves in beauiy, Hke the fliapelefs rock 
Under the fculptor's chifel, till at length 
She undertakes her progrefs thro' the world, 
A woman fair and good, as child for parent. 
Parent for child, or man for wife could wifli. 
Say, man, what more delights thee than the fair ? 
What (hould we not be patient to endure 
If they command ? We rule the noify world, 
But they rule us. Then teach them how to guide. 
And hold the rein with judgment. Their applaufe 
May once again reflore the quiet reign 
Of virtue, love, and peace, and yet bring back 
The bluih of folly, and the fhame of vice, 

I ride without a rein, and thence it is 
My ambling Pegafus oft turns afide. 



The Village Curate. 53?. 

And quits the public way for the cool lane. 

Or bears me to the door of many a fool 

I had not eife obferv'd. No wonder then 

I rap fo loudly at your gilded doors. 

Ye female guides, that lead our lambs ailray , 

And bid you be at home, ye thoughtlefs dames. 

Who truil your offspring with the hungry wolf» 

Once more I turn, and once again obferve 

Alcanor in his garden \ not alone. 

For Ifabel is there. The day declines, 

And now the falling fun offends them not. 

She rears the fainting flow'r, and feeds its root. 

Ye botanifts, I cannot talk like you. 

And give to ev'ry flow'r its name and rank. 

Taught by Linnceus *, yet I find in all 

Or known or unknown, in the garden raisM, 

Or nurtur'd in the hedge-row, or the field, 

A fecret virtue, that attrafls my e^^e 

And meliorates my heart. And much I love 

To fee the fair one bind the flraggling pink, 

Cheer the fvveet rofe, the lupin, and the flock^ 

And lend a flaff to the flill gadding pea. 

I cannot count the number of the flars. 

Nor call them by their names, much lefs relate 

What vegetable tribes Alcanor loves. 

The fair ones rear. I will not fwcU my fong 



58 The Village Curate, 

With the proud lift of forces led from Greece, 
Or angels tumbled headlong into hell. 
Yet let me praife the garden-loving maid, 
Who innocently thus concludes the day. 
Ye fair, it well becomes you. Better thus 
Cheat time away, than at the crowded rout, 
Ruflling in filk, in a fniall room, clofe-pent. 
And heated e'en to fufion ; made to breathe 
A rank contagious air, and fret at whift, 
Or fit afide to fneer and whifper fcandal. 

In fuch a fiient, cool, and wholefome hour, 
The Author of the world came down from Heav'n 
To walk in Paradife, well pleas'd to mark 
The harmlefs deeds of new-created man. 
And fure the filent, cool, and wholefome hour 
May Ml delight him, our atonement made. 
Who knows but as we walk he walks unfeen. 
And fees, and well approves the cheerful tafk 
The fair one loves \ he breathes upon the pink 
And gives it odor, touches the fweet rofe 
And makes it glow, beckons the ev'ning dew 
And fheds it on the lupin and the pea : 
Then fmiles ©n her, and covers all her cheek 
With gay good humour, happinefs, and health. 
So all are paffmg fweet, and the young Eve 



The Village Curate, 59 

Feels all her pains rewarded, all her joys 
Perfedl and unimpair'd. But who can love, 
Of heav'nly temper, to frequent your walks. 
Ye fafliion-loving belles. .The human foul 
Your peftilent amufements hates ; how then 
Shall he approve, who cannot look on guilt ? 

So day by day Alcanor and the fair 
Attend the garden ftudious, foon as eve 
Her cooling odors fheds, and the large fun 
Grows dim, and fhoots his mellow rays oblique. 

Nor thefe the only pleafures fummer yields. 
They often wander at the clofe of day 
Along the fhady lane, or thro' the wood. 
To pluck the ruddy flrawberry, or fmell 
The perfum'd breeze that all the fragrance fteals 
Of honey-fuckle, bloflbm'd beans, or clover ; 
Or haply rifles from the new-made rick 
The hay's fweet odor, or the fweeter breath 
Of farmer's yard, where the flill patient cow 
Stands o'er the plenteous milk-pail ruminant. 
Sometimes they flray at higheft noon, when day 
His gariili eye has veil'd, and idly range 
The new-mown paflure, mark the diflant forge 
Deep in the valley, jutting its low roof 



go '^he Village Curate, 

Againft the flream, clofe by the trickling floodgate, 
And thither turn their fleps. I love to fee 
How hardly fome their frugal morfel earn ; 
It gives my own a zeft, and ferves to damp 
The longing appetite of difcontent. 

See, pale and hollow-eyed, in his blue fliirt, 
Before the fcorching furnace, reeking ftands 
The weary fmith. A thiuid'ring water-wheel 
Alternately uplifts his pond'rous pair 
Of roaring bellows. He torments the coal 
And ftirs the melting ore, till all refolv'd 
Into a perfedl lump •, then feizes faft 
With his fli'ong forceps the unwieldy mafs, 
And drags it glowing to the anvil. Eye 
Can fcarce attend it, fo intenfe the heat. 
He bears it all, and with one arm lets loofe 
Th' impatient ikeam. The heavy wheel moves round. 
And ever and again lets fall the loud 
And awful hammer, that confounds the ear, 
And makes the firm earth fhake. He turns the mafs. 
And works it into fliape \ till cooler grown. 
He ftops his wheel, and once again provokes 
The dying cinders, and his half-done work 
Buries in fire. Again he drags it forth, 
And once more lifts it to the fturdy anvil. 
4 



The Village Curate, 6~i 

There beaten long, and often tura'd, at length 
*Tis done. He bears it hiiTing to the light, 
An iron bar. Behold it well. What is't, 
But a juft emblem of the lot of virtue. 
For in this naughty world (he cannot live. 
Nor ruft contrail, nor mingle with alloy. 
So the great Judge, to make her worthy heav'n, 
Submits her to the furnace and the anvil ; 
'Till molten, bruis'd, and battered, ihe becomes 
Spotlefs and pure, and leaves her drofs behind. 

And who fhall grieve, and think his lot fevere 
Who well confidcrs this ? The Having fmith, 
That wipes his flowing brov/ {o fafr, his bread 
Earns at the bitter coft, expence of hcahli. 
In fnmmer's hotteft day he feeds his forge. 
And ftands expos'd to the diflrefsful fire 
That almofl broils him dead. Yet what complaint: 
Makes he at fortune ? He is well content 
To toil at Lis infernal work, and breathe 
A torrid atmofphere, {"o he may earn 
A fcant fubfifrence in this pinching world. 
Ye idle rich, confider this, nor aim 
At places, pcnfions, titles, coronets. 
Ye lazy clerks, confider this, nor fue 
For benefices, canonries, and mitres, 
G 



62 ^he Village Curate, 

All might inherit eale, v/ould the)^ not long 

To fill a braver office, and at times 

Look down, and fee how hard the drudging poor 

Toil for a bare fabfiflence. Be content. 

And happlnefs fhall torn and follow you. 

But fhe is coy as the unwedded maid. 

And he that follows her is vext in vain. 

And may purfue for ever. Let her fly \ 

Shy fool, I follow not. If thou relent, 

Feaft at my board, and be a welcome gucft. 

So Summer glides along, and happy he 
Who like Alcanor holds occafion fall-. 
And, duty done, enjoys the fummer lounge. 

So have I wander'd ere thofe days were paft 
That childhood calls her own. Ah ! happy days 
Th^t recollection loves, unflain'd with vice. 
Why were ye gone fo foon ? Did I not love 
To quit my defk and ramble in the field. 
To gather auflere berries from the bufh, 
Or fearch the coppice for the clufl'ring nut ? 
Bid I not always with a fhout applaud. 
That welcome voice the holiday announced ? 
Say, you that knew me, you that faw me oft 
Shut up my book elate, and dance for joy. 



The Village Curate, 63 

O liberty ! How paiTing fweet art thou 

To him that labours at the conilant oar 

Sorely rekaaiit, to the pining boy 

That loves enlargement, and abhors his chain. 

So Oil thy banks too, Ifis, have I Pcray'd, 
A taillTd (Indent. Witnefs you that aiar'd 
My morning walk, my ramble at high noon, 
My evening voyage, an unfkilful tar. 
To Godftow bound, or fome inferior port, 
Forilrawberries and cream. What have we found 
In life's aurterer hours, deleaablc __ 

As the long day fo loiter'd ? O ye grave 
And ferious heads, who guard the twin retreats 
Of Brltiili learning, give the honefl boy 
His due indulgence. Let him range the field, 
Frequent the public walk, and floutly lUg 
The ever-yielding oar. But mark him well, 
And if he turn afide to vice or folly, 
Shew him the rod, and let him feel you prize 
The parent's happlnefs, the public good. 
And you, ye thoughtlefs young, deem it not hard 
If old experience check your wild career, 
And call you home to think. Love the kind hand 
That fleadily correas, and be not apt 
To leave the lludent's for the jocky's part, 

G 2 



04 The Village Curate, 

To drefs, to fwear, to gamblcj whore and drink. 
Vor lb the taylor, gamefier, rogue, and punk. 
The cook, the fargeon, and the vinter thrive, 
.Learning decays, and the bock-vender frarves \ 
"6^^-^ only he that reading circulates, 
And earns a living of the fmarting boy, 
Who all day long lies wriihing on his coach 
Repencant, feeding hi3 diuemper'd mind 
V/ith playti and novels. Will ye thus repay 
*.\u'cijtal goodnefs ? Will ye thus apply 
rareotal bounty ? Who can wonder then, 
'x\\t parent's curfe on Alma-mater lights, 
A-iid ihe wide world re-echoes v/ith the found 
Of terrible reproach. For who can live 
And not condemn, who fees the fwagg'ring dunce^ 
The knave, the drunkard, and the debauchee, 
Mix \yith the iacred band of God's apoftles ? 



The Village Curate. 65 



IN OW comes July, and with his fervid noon 
Unnerves the hand of toil. The mower lleeps — 
The fun-burnt maid rakes feebly — the hot fwain 
Pitches his load relii6lant — the faint fleer, 
Ladling his fides, draws fulkily along 
The flow encumber'd wain. The hedge-row now 
Delights, or the ftill fhade of filent lane. 
Or cool impending arbor, there to read. 
Or talk and laugh, or meditate and deep. 

There let me fit to fee the brewing florm 
CoIle(ff its dufky horrors, and advance 
To bellow fternly in the ear of night ; 
To fee th' Almighty elecftrician come. 
Making the clouds his chariot. Who can fland 
When he appears ? The confcious creature flies, 
And riiulks away, afraid to fee his God 
Charge and recharge his dreadful battery. 
For who fo pure his lightning might not blafl, 
And be the mefienger of jullice ? Who 
Can Hand expos'd, and to his judge exclaim, 
« My heart is cleanfed, turn thy ilorm away,' 
G3 



66 The Village* Curate, 

Fear not, ye fair, v/ho with the naughty world 

Have feldom mingled. Mark the rolling ftorm. 

And let me hear you tell, when morning comes. 

With what tremendous howl the furious blafl 

Blew the large Ihow'r in heavy cataraft 

Againft your window ; how the keen, the quick, 

And vivid lightning quiver'd on your bed, 

And how the deep artillery of heav'n 

Broke ioofe, and ftiook your coward habitation. 

Fear not ; for if a life of innocence, 

And that which we deem virtue here below, 

Can hold the forky bolt, ye may p relume 

To look and live. Yet be not bold, but (liew 

Some pious dread, fome grave aflonirnment. 

For all our worthy deeds are nothing worth. 

And if the folemn tempefl: cut us (liort 

lu our beft hour, we are in debt to heav'n. 

So when the trumpet blew and waxing loud 
And louder flili, becam.e exceeding loud, 
That all the people trembled, and the mount 
Smok'd at the touch bf God, and lliock, a voice 
Commanded priefts and people to beware, 
Not to break thro' and gaze, lef^ the pure God, 
Whofe fpotlefs nature cannot brook the fight 
Of aught unflm^lified, break forth and flay. 



fhe Village Curate, 67 

The florm fubfided, and the day begun. 
Who would not walk along the fandy way. 
To fmell the lliower's fragrance, fee the fun 
With his (lieer eye afcend the zenith joyous, 
Mark the Hili-rumbling cloud crewding away 
Indignant, and embrace the gentle breeze. 
That idly wantons with the dewy leaf. 
And {hakes the pearly rain-drop to the ground. 
How fwcet the incenfe of reviving flow'rs ! 
Ye mufl abroad, ye fair. The angry night 
Has done you rnifchief. Ev'ry plant will need 
Your kindly hand to rear its falling head. \ 

Come not St. Sv/ithin with a cloudy face. 
Ill-ominous ; for old tradition fays. 
If S within weep, a deluge will enfiie, 
A forty days of rain. The fwain believes, 
And bleiles fultry Swithin if he fmiles. 
But curfcs if he frowns. So crazy dames 
Teach the apt boy a thoufand ugly figns. 
Which riper judgment cannot fliake afide. 
And fo the path of life is rough indeed. 
And the poor boy feels double fmart, eompeird 
To trudge it barefoot on the naked flint. 
For what is judgment and the mind informed, 
Your Chrilliaa armour, Gcfpel-preparatioii, 



^8 The Village Curate. 

But fandals for the feet, that tread with eafc. 
Nor feel thofe harlh afperities of life, 
Which ignorance and fuperilition dread. 
I much admire we ever Ihould complain 
That life is fiiarp and painful, when ourfelves 
Create the better half of all our woe. 
Who can he blame who lliudders at the fight 
Of his own candle, and foretels with grief 
A winding fheet ? who flarts at the red coal 
That bounces from his fire, and picks it up. 
His hair on end, a cofEn ? fpills his fait, 
And dreads difailer ? dreams of pleafant fields. 
And fmells a corpfe ? and ever Oiuns with care 
The unpropitious hour to pare his nails ? 
Such fears but ill become a foul that thinks. 
I.et time bring forth what heavy plagues it will. 
Who pdn anticipates, that pain feels twice. 
And often feels in vain. Yet, tho' I blame 
The man who with too bufy eye unfolds 
The page of time, and reads his lot amifs, 
I can applaud to fee the fmiling maid. 
With pretty fuperftition pluck a rofe. 
And lay it by till Chriftmas. I can look 
With much complacency on all her arts 
To know the future hufband. Yes, ye fair, 
I deem it good to fteal from years to come 



TJj^ Village Curate, 69 

A fhare of happinefs. We could not live. 
Did we not hope to-morrow would produce 
A better lot than wc enjoy to-day. 
Hope is the dearefl: med'cine of the foulj 
A fweet oblivious antidote, that heals 
The better half of all the pains of life. 

Now o*er his corn, the fiiirdy farmer looks, 
And f\\ eiis with fatisfa<Slion, to behold 
The plenteous harveft that repays his toil. 
Vf e too are gratified, and feel a joy 
Inferior but to his, partakers all 
Of the rich bounty Providence has ftrew'd 
In plentiful profufion o'er the field. 
Tell me ye fair, Alcanor tell me, what 
Is to the eye more cheerful, to the heart 
More fatisfa(fi:ive, than to look abroad. 
And from the window fee the reaper flrip, 
Look round, and put his fickle to the wheat ? 
Or hear the early mower whet his fcythe, 
And fee where he has cut his founding way^ 
E'en to the utmofl edge of the brown field 
Of oats or barley ? What delights us more, 
Than fludioufly to trace the vafl effeds 
Of unabated labour ? to obferve 
How foon the golden field flands thick v/ith fheaves ? 



70 The Village Curate, 

How foon the oat and bearded barley fall, 

In frequent lines before the hungry fcythe ? 

The clatt'ring team now comes, and the fwarth hind 

Leaps down, and throws his frock afide, and plies 

The fhiniDg fork. Dov/n to the flubble's edge 

The eafy wain defcends half built, then turns 

And labours up again. From pile to pile 

With ruftling flep the fwain proceeds, and fiili 

Bears to the groaning load the weli-poiz*d fheaf. 

The gleaner follows, and with fliidious eye, 

And bended (boulders traverfes the field 

To find the fcatter'd ear, the perquifite 

By heaven's decree affign'd to them that need, 

And neither fow nor reap. Ye that have fowOj 

And reap fo plenteoufly, and find your barns 

Too narrow to contain the harvefl giv'n, 

Be not fevere, and grudge the needy poor 

So fmall a portion. Scatter many an ear, 

Nor let it grieve you to forget a ilieaf 

And overlook the lofs. For he tliat gave 

Will readily forgive the purpos'd wrong 

Done to yourfelves \ nay more, will twice repay 

The generous neglefl. The field is clear'd ; 

No (lieaf remains ; and now the empty wain 

A load kfs honorable waits. Vafl toil fuccceds. 

And flill the team retreats, and Aill returns 



ne Village Curate, ji 

To be again fuU-franght. Work on, ye fwalns. 

And make one autumn of your lives, your toil 

Still new, your harveft never done. Work on. 

And flay the progrefs of the falling year, 

And let the cheerful valley laugh and fing, 

Crown'd with perpetual Augufl. Never faint, 

Nor ever let us hear the hearty fhout 

Sent up to heav'n, your annual work complete 

And harveft ended. It may feem to you 

The found of joy, but not of joy to us. 

We grieve to think how foon your toil has ceas'd, 

How foon the plenteous year has flied her fruits, 

And waits the flow approach of farly Winter. 

One labour more the cheerful hand awaits ; 
Then the glad year is done. We feize with joy 
The precious interval, and fhape our walk 
At early cv'ning down the meadow path ; 
Till funk into the vale, faft by the brook 
We fpy the blooming hop, and with light heart 
The glorious garden enter. Tell me not. 
Ye who, in love with wealth, your days confume 
Pent up in city fl:cnch, and fmoke, and filth j 
O tell me not of aught magniiicent 
Or fair as this, in all your public walks. 
What are the charms your Ranelagh affords 



72 The Village Curate, 

ComparM with ours ? Search all your gardens round, 

Y efhall not find e'en at your boafted Vaux 

A haunt To neat, fo elegant as this. 

Long let us ftray, and frequently repeat 

Our ev'nmg's homage to the blooming hop. 

Spare him, ye fwains, pernicious infedls fpare, 

Ye howling tempefts, come not near my joy, 

But let him hang till I have gaz'd my fill. 

Then fhall he fall, and his gay honours flied, 

And your forbearance plenteoufly repay 

V7ith his abundant gold. Long let us flray, 

Enjoy the grateful covert, and admire 

The one continued clufier over-head 

Of blolToms interwoven, and depending 

E'en to the touch and Imell. Long let us flray, 

And ever as we come to the flat mead 

And quit the garden with reluvJ^iance, then 

When we behold the fiiiiling valley fpread 

In gay luxuriance far before us, ibcep 

And oxen grazing, till the eye is fiaid, 

The finuous profpe<fl turning from the view. 

And all above us to the right and left 

Enchanted woodland to the topmoft hill. 

Then let the village bells, as often wont. 

Come fwelling on the breeze, and to the fun 

Half-fet, ring merrily their evening round. 



'The Village Curate, 73 

I aO< not for the caufe. It matters not 
What fwain is wedded, what gay iafs is bound 
To love for ay, to cherifli and obey. 
It is enough for me to hear the found 
Of the remote exhilarating peal. 
Now dying all away, now faintly heard. 
And now with loud and mufical relapfe 
Its mellow changes pouring on the ear. 

So have I flood at eve on Ifis' banks. 
To hear the merry Chrift-church bells ring round. 
So have I fat too in thy honoured ihades 
DiilinguiHi'd Magdalen, on Cheirweirs brink, 
To hear thy filvcr Wolfey tones fo fweet. 
And fo too have I paus'd and held my oar. 
And fufFer'd the flow flream to bear me home. 
No fpeed required while Wykeham's peal was up. 



Ihe Village Curate, 



N< 



OW let September and Ocftober come, 
Twin months of ilaiighter. Perfecution flarts. 
And ere the dewy day be half awake 
Begins her bloody work. The fields are throng'd 
With licens'd murderers, who flay for fport. 
So when the jealous Herod gave the word, 
The cruel ruffian thirfled for the blood 
Of helplefs innocents. And fo the fword, 
Another Herod reigning, was let loofe. 
To fpill the blood of fleeping Hugonots. 
Alcanor joins them not. He envies none 
The plcafures of the field, and much admires 
To hear the fquabble and the loud harangue, 
And all for game ; to fee the Britifh foul 
So puny grown, it quarrels for a feather. 
'Tis a mean wretch, and fcarce defer ves to live 
That cannot find amufements void of pain. 

O undeferving parent, that neglef^s 
To train the infant boy to deeds humane. 
See how his fports, his paftimes, dearefl child, 
Are all to be indulg'd, whether he choofe 



The Village Curate. 75 

To whip his nurfe, to laPii the (leeping puppy. 
Or pinch the tail of unoffending pufs. 
Go, catch the furly beetle, and fufpend 
The harmlefs pris'ner by the wing or tall 
To make the booby laugh. But if fo loud 
His well deferv'd rebuke, the timid child 
Stands oiFaiarm'd, then let him fee thee crufli 
The thing he fears. Or give it libeft}'-. 
Not unconArained, as heav'n beflow'd it. No, 
Set the gall'd nrls'ner free, but lock his chain 
PuU-fafl about him. Drive him to the field, 
But pluck no arrow from his fide. He's gone, 
And feels that liberty is wond'rous fweet, 
Tho' the crook'd pin faft nxt, and trailing thread. 
Admit no remedy. A while he lives — 
His thread clings fafl — he (lutters, faints and dies. 
Go, Tom, a ladder bring, and reach the nefl:. 
'Tis but a fparrow's, and 'twill ferve 
To pacify the boy. What if the darn 
in patient expedfation fits, and hopes 
Another day jQiall all her cares rev/ard. 
And bring to light her helplefs progeny ? 
Forth from her high maternal office dragged 
With rude indignity, behold (he comes 
A joyful viflim to the callous boy. 
He with delight her ruffled plumes furveys, 
H 2 



7 6 The Village CuraU. 

Seizes her nefl, and the dear charge purloins j 

Then with a frantic laugh down drops the eggs, 

i\nd blindfold hops to cruQi them as he goes. 

Ah ! haplefs bird, yet happy flill, if this - 

Be all the pain thy cruel foe intends. 

Ah ! what avail'd thy labour of an age 

To weave the genial nefl:, with many a root 

And many a firaw far-fetch'd ? 'Twas all in vain, 

llalf-flarv'd Grimalkin claims thee for his prey, 

Anu in his cruci paw fail-ciutch'd devours 

Rclentlefs. . Or the boy aware, himftjf 

Cuts Hiort ex.ifience, and aiiots to pufs 

Only the fevcr'd head. Ingenious fool, 

Pert executioner, behold the blood 

Of parent, and of offspring. Grin amain ; 

O thou had done a deed that Heav'n abhor s^ 

Let the wife parent laugh to fee hov/ well 

His looby boy has learn'd to be humane. 

Let him applaud the bloody deed^ and fpare 

The well-earL'd rod. In thee, great flate. 

Eternal glory of the Gentile world, 

Juft Athens, had the beardlefs boy prefum'd 

A deed fo villainous, the public arm 

Had the mean youth chaifis'd, till it had wak'd 

A foul humane and fennble of wrong. 

Behold and mark the flurdy boy, at length 



The Village Curate* 77 

Grown up to man (if fuch he may be calPd, 
Poffeffing nothing human but the fhape) 
What are his. fports ? and hov/ delights the dunce 
From morn to night to Ipend the live-long day ? 
Can the dark Ethiopian change his fl<in ? 
Or can the Leopard at his will be white, 
And lay his fpots afide ? From morn to eve 
See how he toils with gen'rous intent 
To be the murd'rer of the tim'rous hare. 
To win the brufh of Reynard nobly ikiird. 
To vex the badger ; or with cruel joy 
Stoops o'er the cock-pit, eager to behold 
The dying ftruggles of poor Chanticleer. 
'Twas nature taught the gen'raus bird to fight, 
And drive the bold intruder from his roofc, 
In care for thee, mean wretch, who hafl fupplied 
The weapon nature kindly had refus'd. 
Or made to flrike in vain. Now mark his gait. 
When morning hardly dawns, and from the hutch 
He lets the fuU-ear'd pointer loofe to range, 
Well arm'd is lie, within with morning dram, 
Without with old furtout, thick fhoes, and hofe 
Of leather, button'd to the buckfkin'd knee. 
So forth he fares, brave knight; but iirfl he primes 
And loads his burnifli'd piece, then hangs his pouchy. 
His powder-horn, and whip v/ith whillle tipt 
H3 



^B The Tillage Curate, 

On his broad ihoulders. Let me not forge?. 
What he might well forget, th' important bag^ 
To be ere long (for fo he thinks) well linM 
With pheafant, partridge, fnipe, or tardy quail. 
So mounts the popping Hadibras o'er flyle 
Or crackhng hedge, or leaps the muddy ditch. 
His armour clatt'ring as he goes. I fee 
Where he has fwept the filver dew away 
Acrofs the paflure. Now he climbs the gate. 
And heys his dog to run the flubble round. 
While he Hands full, or fcarcely moves a pace. 
So have I feen the hafly minute-hand 
Run round and round, v/hile th' other idly floods 
Or feem'd to fland, and ever and anon 
Bray'd loud to fet him on his v/ay again. 
Take heed, take heed. With nofe infallible 
The filent pointer winds tov/ard the game. 
Now motionlefs he Aands, one foot lift up. 
His noftril wide-diflended, and his tail 
Unwag'd. Now fpeed my hero of the gun, 
And when the fudden covey fprings, let ily^ 
And mils' them all. O I rejoice to fee 
'W^hen our amufements are {o innocent 
They give no pain at all. But fpare the whip^ 
And if the wary covey fpiings too foon. 
Let Sancho (lill be fafe •, and let not rage 



The Village Curate. 7*j 

Prompt thee to (lamp upon his guiltlefs neck 
Till the blood ifTiies from his mouth and nofe. 
Much lefs let fly upon the faithful cur 
The volley fate has fbar'd, for he is flaunch. 
And true to thee as thou art falie to him. 

Q thoughtlefs world, that will not be at paihs 
To cultivate humanity in youth. 
'Tis hence we laugh at woe, and ev'ry day 
XInpitjing hear the cries of half a world 
Vex'd with the galling icourge of flavery. 
My eye is call: on Britain's weifern illes. 
And I behold a patient flave grov.'n faint: 
Under the lafh. Inhuman dog, forbear. 
The man who now lies bleeding at thy feet 
Was once a monarch. To the bloody field 
He led a numerous tribe, attached by deeds 
Of pure affedlion to their leader. He 
No laws of mutiny had fram'd, nor fear'd 
To fee deferiion thin his crowded ranks. 
Bravely he fought, and hardly would fubmil^ 
Surviving only he. Then firfi he knew 
Y/hat'tVv^as to faint, when looking for his friends 
He faw them dead and bleeding at his ^lAz. 
Hor had he\hen let fall his welUIlrung bow^ 



8o The Village Curate, 

And fliook the poifon'd quiver from his fide,. 
Were there one arrow left, or flill furviv'd 
He for whofe life and happinefs he fought, 
His only fon. Him reeking in his blood 
The haplcfs monarch faw, and could no more. 
Then fpare him 3^et. What tho* he left his tafk. 
And fought the friendly fliade to vent his grief 
Yet recent. True, he flept, and at an hour 
When all tlie world was bufy. 'Twas the call 
Of fympathizing nature, that would pour 
One balm at leaft upon his countlefs wounds. 
Poor foul, he flept, and fancy to his mind 
Brought back again the days he once had feen. 
Forth from his hut he went, his only fon 
And wife (now more than widow) by his fide. 
He tipt his arrow, ftrung his bow, and fhot. 
The flricken bird is her's, and her's the deer. 
Thefe are his- choiceft gifts. With thefe he feeks 
His humble palace once again -, there fits 
And eats his plain and temperate repafl. 
And the too-fleeting hours beguiles with talk 
Of twenty thoufand dangerous efcapes 
From cruel tiger, or more cruel man. 
And was this little happinefs too much ? 
The fword of juftice furely will unfhea'th. 



The Village Curate, Bi 

Nor fall in vain upon thefe guilty iOes. 

Crofs not again the proud Atlantic wave. 

With helilfh purpofe to enfiave the free. - 

Or load the pris'ner v/ith eternrd chains, 

For he is Man as thou art. Not for thee. 

And only thee, did God's creative Word 

Call into being this vail: work, the world. 

Nor yet for thee that Word incarnate fiied 

His precious blood. Go, falfe and cruel tyrant^ 

Reign in the forcfls of thy native ifle, 

And let the prowling favage reign in his. 

Let him enjoy the little blifs he owns, 

Or give him more. Make not that little lefs. 

For i\dam was liis fire, and Adam thine ; 

And he (hall fliare redemption too with thee, 

"With thee, and me, and all this Gentile world, 

jf we defer ve to rank in brotherhood 

With one we wron^ {o much. Content were he 

To tread the burning dcfsrt, feel the fun 

Shoot his iierce rays dire^ upon his head. 

And earn the little plenty his wild ftate 

Affords, with hunter's toil. Content were he 

To be an humble pcnfioner at beft 

Of the grim lion \ but the curfed hand 

Of brutal avarice that peace deftroys, 

That little peace the lordly lion fpares. 



82 The Village Curate, 

September half run out, the day return?, 
Reinember'd oft with awful reverence 
And pio<.is love of thee, Ail-feeing Power, 
Who folIow*fl: virtue wherefoe'er flie roves, ' 
Her (hield and buckler. On the funny down 
Eliza ftray'd. Ah 1 why alone ? 'Twas fo 
The tempter vanquifli'd Eve ; 'twas fo fhe fell. 
She fliay'd and mus'd, die pluck'd a flow'r and fung. 
She knew no fear, accuftom'd oft to range 
The pieafant hill, and deeming none lef^ good, 
Lefs honeft than herfelf. But fiich the world 
We cannot find the place, howe'er remote 
From public notice, that efcapes the fearch 
Of prymg luH, and keeps fecure and fafe 
The jewel virtue. An Hibernian whelp. 
Strong as the tiger, fubtle as the fox, 
Saw and was pleas'd. No bar to him his vow 
Made at the altar, to be conftant ftill 
To her he wedded there. In his falfe heart 
He fed adult'rous hope, he couch'd and flunk. 
And with a leer the folitary down 
Surveyed, far as the jealous eye can reach. 
* So Satan lurk'd, and joy'd to find alone 
Ingenuous Eve ; and he his proem tun'd 
With flattery and lies, and fo didfl: thou^ 
* Miltou, 



The Village Curate » 83 

Into the heart of Eve his words made way *, 
Eliza heard not thine. For flie had mark'd 
And knev/ her tempter \ (lie had well obferv'd, 
Unknown to thee, thy often-praf^is'd wiles. 
What wonder then thy eulogy was vain .'* 
Thy large account of honour and of wealth 
Mov'd only her derifion, nor could win 
One fmile, one kifs, one look of approbation. 
Here had thy paffion ceas'd, thou might'fl at leafl: 
Have chalieng'd lionour with the fiend of Hell. 
But foil'd and flill repuls'd, thy bafer foul 
Had meaner fliifts to try. Her reafon proof. 
Thy next refource unmanly violence. 
What guilty marks left not thy greedy hand 
Upon the fair one's arm ? fo mighty thou 
To combat virtue, to afliiil a maid 
No match for thee but in fo good a caufe. 
Yet hadft thou vanquifli'd, but a pow'r unfeen 
Approved her efforts, and refilled thine. 
What faw'ft thou, coward, to be put to flight 
Swift as the hoftile arrow ? Mark my v/ords. 
The man of noble purpofe nothing daunts, 
No, not a falling world. He were composed 
And fteadfaft as a rock, tho' floods of fire 
The world and all its fellows fwept away, 
And he beheld a Universe in ilames. 



84 ^^^^ Village Curate. 

Then was the mighty foil'd the cunning caught. 
And yet hebluihes not. Accus'd, he ftarts, 
Protefls his innocence, appeals to julVice, 
Unlocks the copious fountain of his eye, 
And who can fay it is not fl-range and piteous ? 
Yet why decays his honour fpite of tears. 
Of proteflations and appeals, of threats. 
And public infolence ? Ah me ! I fear 
Eliza may forgive thee, but in vain ; 
And tho' infulted juftice flumber here, 
She will arraign thee at the bar of Heaven, 
And fpite of Charity the wrong repay. 

The happy morning comes, expected long 
By lads and lafTes. Soon as light appears, 
The fwain is ready in his Sunday frock, 
And calls on Nell to trip it to the fair. 
The village bells are up, and jangling loud 
Proclaim the holiday. The clam'rous drum 
Calls to the puppet-fiiew. The gro.aning horn 
And twanging trumpet fpeak the fale begun. 
Of articles moft rare and cheap. Dogs bark 
Aftounded at the noife. Old women laugh, 
Boys fhout, and the grave Docfror mounts with glee 
His crowded fcafFold, flruts, and makes a fpeech, 
Maintains the virtue of his falve for corns, 

2 



The Village Curate. 85 

liis worm-cake and his pills, pufFs his known fldllj 
And fliews his kettle, filver knives and forks. 
Ladle and cream-por, and to crown the whok, 
The fplendid tankard. Andrew grins, and courts 
The gaping multitude, till Tom and Sue 
And Abigail and Ned their fiioulders fnrug, 
And laugh and whifper, and refolve to fport 
The folitary Ihilling. See produc'd 
Their unwafh'd handkerchiefs. Ah ! fimple fwains, 
Ah ! filly maids, you laugh, but Andrew wins. 
And Vvdiat for you but forrow and rcmorfe, 
Or box of falve to plaifter difappointment ? 
Unlefs the fiiiart of folly may be footh'd 
By Andrew's merry pranks, the danchig girl. 
And frolic tumbler. Now the Areet is fiU'd 
With flralls and booths for gingerbread and bcer^ 
Rear'd by enchantment, finiih'd in a trice. 
Amufements here for children of all forts ; 
For little mailer's pence, a coach, a drum, 
A horfe, a wife, a trumpet ; dolls for rnifs^ 
Fans, cups and faucers, kettles, maids and churns. 
For idle fchool-boys Punchinello rants, 
The juggler fnuffles, and the artful dame 
Extends her lucky bag. For infants tall, 
Of twenty years and upwards, rueful games, " 
To whirl the horfe-faoe, bQwi at the nine-pins, 
I 



86 1[he Village Curate, 

Game at the dial-pkite, drink beer and gin, 
Rant, rave, and fwear, cudgel, get drunk and fight, 
Then comes the afs-race. Let not v/ifdom frown 
If the grave clerk IooIl on, and now and then 
Eeftow a fmile ; for we may fee, Alcanor, 
In this untoward race the ways of life. 
Are we not alTes all ? we ftart and run. 
And eagerly we prcfs to pafs the goal, 
And all to win a bauble, a lac'd hat. 
Was not great Wolfey fuch ? He ran the race 
And won the hat. What ranting politician. 
What prating lawyer, what ambitious clerk. 
But is an afs that gallops for a hat ? 
,For what do Princes fbrive, but gilded hats ? 
For diadems, whofe bare and fcanty brims 
Will hardly keep the fLin-beam. from their eyes. 
For ^vhat do Poets drive ? a leafy hat. 
Without or crown or brim, which hardly fcreens 
The empty noddle from the fift of fcorn, 
Ivluch lefs repels the critic's thund'ring arm. 
And here and there intoxication too 
Concludes the race. Who wins the hat, gets drunk. 
Who wins a laurel, mitre, cap, or crown. 
Is drunk as he. So Alexander fell. 
So Haman, C^eHu-, Spenfer, Wolfey, James. 



ne Village Curate, 87 

Inow chilly ev'ning puts her grey coat on. 
And from the cafi: advancing, puts to Illght 
Th: rc>-i- oi' d^y, ^ht with a zone oF l"i:ars. 
The c.:i. (Vir h ca::;:d. The rank booth 
Spews O'M ir^s beaftiy hiabitant, the mob 
Diipcrfe, and Andrew's merry pranks are done. 
Home reels the driinkeji clown, or flays to fight^ 
Isuthiii^ig the caufe, yet honour much concern'd. 
C'^nifufion reignsj uproar and loud mis-rule ; 
XjiiTnictlons ceafe, and ftill the oath, the fcream, 
The (liout, the hoot, diilurb the midnight ear 
Of fober Cioe gone to bed betimes. 

Such v/as the time, ah me ! when Dorothy, 
The hubbubliardly ended, from her fwain 
The vow extorted to be ever her's 
Three times Akanor's voice the banns proclaimM, 
And three times all were Hill. Then to the church 
The grinning bride was ledj and faR: was tied. 
Ah ! much too faft, the hymeneal knot. 
Then grief was m/mcj grief inconfolable, 
And ileeplefs nip,hts and inharmonious days, 
I^or how could I rejoice, my charmer gone. 
My Lelbia fled, my lovely Lalage, 
My SugarefTa, my dear Dorothy ? 



I 2 



^S ne ViUiige Curate. 



j\l\ mc ! the golden year is dene. Echold;, 
Gloomy and fod November cornes, with brow 
Severe and clouded. Scarce a Icaffuflahis 
Jlis pcflikiuial blafl. The woods are flript, 
And ailthdr honours fnatter'a in the vab. 
The mefTeng^r of lurly Winter he, 
iiod in his hand he bears the nipping froft; 
Before his tyrant lord he fcatters fleet, 
-tnd with a hideous frown bids Autumn fpeed. 
And after her runs howling thro' the land. 

The £eid has lofl its verdure. All the pride 
Of the fvveet garden fades. "Where nov/ the lofe, 
Tlie pink, the flock, the lupin, or the pea, 
Or gay chryfanthemum .? Where now the comb, 
The after, larkfpur, balfam, or carnation t 
Or where the lilly with her fnovv'y bells ? 
Y/here the gay jafiiiin, odorous fyringa. 
Graceful laburnum, or bloom-clad arbute } 
Or if we ftraj^, where now the fummer's walk 
So Jflilr and peaceable, at early eve 
..\long the {hady lane, or thro' the wood. 



The Village Curate. 89 

To pluck the ruddy flrawberry, or fmell 
The perfum'd breeze that all the fragrance flofe 
Of honey-ill ckle, bloirona'd beans, or clover ? 
Where now the bluih of Spring, and the long day 
Beloiter'd ? chearful May that liU'd the woods 
With mufic, fcatter'd the green vale with iio'.v'rs^ 
And hung a fniile of univerfal joy 
Upon the cheek of nature r Where bloorns now 
The king-cup and the daify ? Where inclines 
The harebell or the cowiTip ? Where looks gay 
The vernal furze with golden baHcets hung ? 
Where captivates the flcy-blue periwinkle 
Under the cottage eaves ? where waves the wood^ 
Or rings with harmony the merry vale ? 
Day's harbinger no long attunes \ no fong 
Or folo anthem deigns fweet Philomel. 
The golden wood- pecker laughs loud no more, . 
The pye no longer prates ; no longer fcolds 
The fancy jay. Who fees the goldfincli now 
The feather'd grounddl pluck, or hears him fing 
In bow'r of apple blofToms perch'd ? Who fees 
The chimney-haunting fwallow fldm the pool. 
And quaintly dip, or hears his early fong 
Twitter'd to young-eyed day. All, all are hufli'd. 
The very bee her merry toil foregoes, 
Nor feeks her neflar, to be fought in vain, 

13 



90 The Village Curat:* 

Only the folltary robin fings, 

And perch'd aloft with melancholy note 

Chants out the dirge of Autumn ; eheerlefs bird. 

That loves the brown and defolated fcene, 

And fcanty fare of Winter. Let me weep 

With you, ye Mufes, and with you, ye fair, 

Chief mourner at the grave of her we love, 

Expiring nature. For ye fought with me 

The fober twilight of the fhelving wood. 

With me forfcok the glare of fultry day. 

To tread the ferioug gloom Religion loves, 

And where fhe fmlles and wipes her dev/y eye, 

Vt^ith meditation walking han-d in hand. 

Ye too have lov*d and heartily approv'd 

The winding foot-path, and the fudden turn, 

The green-fward waggon- way and gothic aide ; 

And heard me comment on the leaf, the branch. 

The arm, the girth of the paternal oak. 

Ye too, have lov'd the long accuilom'd gap. 

That all fo unexpefledly prefents 

The clear cerulean profpecl down the vale. 

Oft have ye ftood upon the fhaggy brow 

Of yonder wood-clad hill, to gaze with me 

Athwart the wide and far extended view. 

That ocean fldrts or blue downs indiflin(fi:. 

Oft have ye look'd with tranfport pure as mine 



The Village Curate, 91 

Into the flowery dell. But ah ! no more 

We wander heedlefs \ ¥/mter's wind forbids. 

The piercing cold commands us jfliut the door, 

Andi-oufe the cheerful hearth \ for at the heels 

Of dark November, comes with arrowy fcourge 

The tyrranous December. Joylefs new 

The morning fun icarce feen, and clouded eve. 

No geniiil influence flieds at noon, eclips'd. 

Sad fcenes enfue j brief days, and blufl'rlng nights. 

And fnovw^sfuch as the winter loving Mufe 

Of Cowper paints v/ell pleasM, and fuch as mine 

Views not unfatlsfied. For tho' without 

Bleak winds and pinching frofls, within Is joy, 

And harmony, and peace. 

Say, Mufe, how pafs 
The frozen hours of Winter, the long eve. 
The gloomy morn, the cold and cheerlefs day, 
At the lone manfion that inveHs the fair 
And Village Curate. Genius there unfolds 
Her quick impaflion'd page ; and Nature there. 
And art their fecret treafures all difplay. 
There dance the jocund maids of Memory 
In everlafling round. Heroic fong 
Her fv^reHing a(fl: proclaims, and eloquence 
Flows with her fmooth and even tide along. 



92 The Village Curate, 

Tranfported Hiftory the fame recounts, 
Of ages pall and gone, and nothing vex'd 
Or wearied with her long exact account, 
O'erleaps the boundaries of prefent time, 
And led by prophecy, extends her tale, 
Fondly perhaps, to the world's confummation* 
Then mufic cheers, and fympathetic founds 
Makes fmooth the way for ferious Tragedy. 
Then dialogue and high dlfpute, the fong, 
The dance, the hearty laugh, and flippant wit 
Of merry Comedy. Urania then 
Points to the Aarry firmament, or Moon 
Eciips'd, and holds attention mute, the while 
With moving finger (he defcribes the courfe 
Of planetary liars, or with fweet voice 
Tells whither fhe led up her heav'nly bard 
To vifit light and draw empyreal air; 
Or whither Newton, more than mortal then, 
When mufmg as he fiit, fiie Aiook the tree. 
And dropt an apple, and her ftudious child 
Caught up to heav'n. 'Tis pleafant to remark 
riov/ early genius plumes her for the flight 
And tries her fliort excurfions, fearful yet 
And little on her wing confiding, now 
Full-fledg'd and dauntlefs, cutting thro' the clouds.. 
And peering in the eye of heav'n itfelf. 



The Village Curate, 93 

oagacious New ten, let me mufe with thee, 
And won'der ut thy quick and piercing eye 
CIcaiis'd of its mortal fiuu. AYho does not wifh 
I/l'- th.j to penetrate the dark abode 
Or" clcnded rayilery, and in his word 
And works unfold the awful deity. 

E'jt not at Newton only to adiTare, 
Ye iliidious fair, we love, but fometimes laugh 
A: Brahe and Dcfcartes ; pralfe the fuong eye 
Of Galileo, and applaud the fpeed 
Of bufy Wilkins, polling like a witch 
Upon a refrive broom-flkk to the Moon. 

And fometimes thee, ingenious Boyle, we hear. 
Maintaining truth and fifting nature ; tliee 
Sometimes, whofe patriotic genius foii'd 
Afl^ilant Rome, and almofl iliv'd the ftate 
Of far/mg Syraciife : then travel round 
The unlverfd globe, at ev'ry fliore 
Taking large draughts of frory and of fong. 
But chiefly thee we love, majsflic Britain, 
AYedded to Neptune, and thy thund'ring fleets 
Follow exulting to the hoftilc fhore ; 
Now^ bear ihee company to farthcfi: Ind, 
Or to the frozen pole^, or roiind the cape 



94 57?^ Village Curate, 

Of" lUmofi: Horn, with philofophic touch 
Converting drols to gi>ld : ;iow diiembnrkj 
End maicii with ILn-ry to the heart of France, 
And beard tlie wordy Monarch on his throne. 
And now we follow to the cannon's month, 
Tremendous Marlb'rough *, or ftand by, and fee 
The livaig Ehlot fcarc his foe to death 
With everhifting fnow'r of burning huih 
And many more we praife, and foine accufe 
Whofe names and deeds my fpeedy niiife fmgs not, 

And now morahty we love, and truth, 
And ferious argument, and grave debate ; 
What Mede or Newton with prophetic eye 
Divine, what Hales or Tiiiotfon advife. 
Anoa we fmilc with zealous Latimer, 
Or filent Addlfon, then range at large 
Cervantes, Sidney, Bacon, Fenelon, 
And' tv/eoty thoufand more choice wits and rare. 

Bat chiefly thee, immortal Shakefpear, thee 
We love and honour, Nature's darling child, 
And ftili we court thy Mufe and Aill applaud, 
Whether the gentle Portia tread the ftage 
With bloody Shylock, or Vincentio v/ed 
The virtuous Ifabel. Whether thy fays 



The Village Curate. 95 

Dance to the Moon, or Profpero djfp.itch 

Il:3 fight-oiitrunning Ariel to the deep, 

The while the gentrons TJiranda cheers 

Ker fainting Ferdinand. Whether the Duke 

And glooT.y Jaqiies confer, and Rofalind 

Laughs at her fighhig lover in difgiiife j 

Or fmiling Perdita comes tripping by 

Vvlth mint and marj'ram, rofeniary and rue, 

Or Viola that never told her love. 

Bat let concealment like a worm i' th' bud 

Feed on her damafk cheek. With hearty laugh 

We flill difmifs the ftili outwitted rogue, 

But flili pretending FalilafF. Then we trace 

With terror and applaafe, the bloody deeds 

Or civil rage, and fall of horror fee 

Thy mailed Mars upon his altar fit 

Up to the ears in blood \ the fatal caiifc 

Afpiring Bolingbrcke. Thence wrath enfued, 

And frequent bickering and lledfafl: hate. 

The lie refounded and the gauntlet fell, 

And ev*ry tongue cried traitor. To the field 

They rufli'd, and all their blades athirft drank blood 

So Percy fell, and old Northumberland, 

Three Dukes of Somerfet three-fold renown'd, 

Two ClifFords, virtuous Humphr}^, Suffolk, York, 

So Montague and Warv/ick, two brave bears, 



g6 The Village Curate, 

That in their chains fettei'd the kingly lion^ 
And made the forefi: tremble when they roarM. 
Then comes defpotic Richard, in thy lines, 
Great bard, fupremely horrible, his eye 
Still bent on (laughter, tho' his reeking blade 
Has loft its edge by ufe, and his faint arm 
Claims refpite. Wolfey then the fail laments 
Of earthly grandeur, and the favour loft 
Of princely Harry, and we too lament. 
Then pitied and applauded, Timoa raves ; 
And noble Coriolanus fcorns the Hiont 
Of popular applaufe, then':e bafely doom'd 
To banlfament and death. Then Brutus ftrikes, 
And biec;'i::g Julius, looldng for his friend. 
Dies by his hand. In hurly-burly then, 
With ghofto and witchcj circled round, Macbeth 
In fiery ftorm ftalks by, with tim'rous eye 
And fretful confcience, fhunning the decree 
Of blood for blood. Then Imogen delights. 
And eagerly we trace th' eventful fcenc. 
Till all Vv'inds up into & happy clofc. 
Not fuch the fortune of afflifledLear 
And poor Cordelia, of thy injur'd wife 
Jealous Othello, of the maid diftraught 
Ophelia, or thy bride that flept with death. 
Too hafty Romeo. Yet thefe delight, 
2 



The Village Curate, 97 

And in their dread cataflrophe difpenfe 
Wholefome correflion to the bleeding heart. 

The Poet filent, long with rapture heard. 
The Shakefpear of another art fucceeds. 
Sweet mufic wakes, and with tranfporting air 
Handel begins. What mortal is not rapt 
To hear his tender wildly-warbled fong 
Where'er he flrays % but chiefly when he fings 
Meffiah come, and with amazing fliout 
Proclaims him King of Kings, and Lord of Lords^ 
For ever and for ever, Hallelujah. 
Great foul, O fay from what immortal fount 
Thou haft derived fuch never- failing power 
To win the foul, and bear it on the wings 
Of pureft extacy, beyond the reach 
Of evVy human care. From whence thine art 
To lift us from the earth, and fix us there 
Where pure devotion with unfparing hand 
Pours on the altar of the living God 
The hallow*d incenfe of the grateful hearts 
O mighty Handel, what feraphic power 
Gave in fpi ration to thy facred fong ? 
Thyfelf perchance was fome fupernal fpirif, 
Permitted to refide on earth awhile, 
Tp teach us here what Mufic is in Heaven, 



9-8 The Village Curate. 

If ev'ry Angel that attends the throne 
Of clouded Deity, fuch fong infpire. 
Let but our mortal ears one chorus hear. 
And all the world were gather'd into Heaven, 
The very Devils fa rely were drawn up 
To liften at the golden doors of light, 
And Hell left wafteful, wide, and defolate. 

Corelli, fweet harmonious bird, thee too 
We hear delighted, and thy mellow flrains 
Deem no mean recompenfe for the lofl: long 
Of lark and nightingale. Thy air repeat, 
And let judicious difcord ftill commend 
Triumphant harmony, till Winter's felf 
Be won like us, and fmooth his rugged brow, 
And all his hours enchanted lieet away. 
Soft as his fur, and quiet as his fnow. 

And oft we feel the foul-fubduing power 
Of vocal harmony, breath'd foftly forth 
With equable accord, without or art. 
Or quaint embelliftiment, fave only fuch 
As nature di<5lates, and without defiga 
Lets fall with eafe in her impaffionM mood. 
Then ferious glee and elegy delight ; 
Or pious anthem fuch as Croft infpires, 



The Village Curate. gg 

Or graver Puree!, or cndearlnfr Clark. 
The noble harmony of Brewer, Efte, 
"Webbe, Baildon, Ravenfcroft, we hear 
With ever-new delight. Briilv canzonet 
Then pleafes, gay duet, or Highland air 
Divinely w^arbled, and \vith cadence fweet 
And tender paufe drawn cut by one we love, 
Spontaneous and unai^'d. And oft the foul 
With patriotic ardor glows, and pants 
For glory, honour and immortal deeds, 
Tranfported at the found of martial flralns 
With fudden burfl commenc'd, and moving ficw 
With folemn grandeur and majeftic pcmp 
To an obflreperous rebounding clofe. 

But who fhall tell in fimple fong like mine, 
The many fliapes that mufic, Proteus-like, 
Puts on, with grateful change of fubjeft, time. 
Contrivance, mood, foothing the captive ear. 
And filling the r^pt foul with fare {q Aveet 
That ftill flie feeds and hungers. Human tongue 
Shall hardly tell what infinite delight 
Sweet Mufic yields, for ever falliioning 
Her fober pleafures to the various mind. 
What wonder then the fulky wheels of time 
Fly glibly round, the drowfy pendulum 

K 2 



loo The Village Curat e. 

Forgoes his old vexatious click unheeded. 
And the fhrill-fo^K; 'irg bell rings out apace 
The brief accompiaVd hours. By Mufic won. 
Decrepit Time forgets his annual gout, 
Renews his dance, and with a noifelefs foot 
Hies fpeedily away. 

I have not told. 
How oft we lifien to the mufty fong 
Of ancient bards, nor think we need excufc 
To honour merit in her home-fpun fuit. 
And chiefly we efleem thy fairy fong, 
Immortal Spenfer, in rude guife yclad. 
Then the fierce knight comes pricking o^er the plain, 
Drad for his derring do and bloody deed. 
And now the combat 'gins, and cruel arms 
The recreant knight o'erwhelm in uncouth fray. 
The caflle falls, and many a maid is won, 
And many a maid is lofl thro' dire mifliap. 

Then comes a troop in gilded uniform. 
The goodly band Johnfonian. Cowley firfl:, 
Poetic child, whofe philofophic mufe 
Diflraifcs, delights, torments and captivates. 
liCt me attend, when from the world retir'd. 
He turn'd his refuve Pegafus to graze, 



The Village Curate* \o% 

And thought, and wrote, fedate and fober profe. 

Comes Milton next, that like his wakeful bird 

Sings darkling, lings and mourns his eye-fight loll. . 

And nightly wanders to the mufes' haunt, 

Clear fpring or fliady grove, or funny hill, 

Smit with the love of facred fong •, to us 

Difplaying nature, and the blifsful fcenes 

Of Paradife, tho' not to him returns 

Day, or the fweet approach of ev'n or morn, 

Or fight of vernal bloom, or fummer's rofe, 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine. 

Sweet bard, that bears us foftly now, and fmooth 

As that unwrinkled flood that flowly winds 

By Windfor's haughty tow'rs, and vifits lliorcs 

Divinely various — ru(hes now, and leaps. 

Abounding fenfe, immeafurable depth, 

A foaming cataraft, whofe thund'ring fall 

Confounds all hell, and utmofl earth and heaven. 

Comes Butler then, incomparable wit, 

And not to be reprov'd, fave when his mufe 

Decorum overleaps, and here and there 

Bolts the coarfe jeft, to the chafte eye and ear 

OfFeofive : for behind the comic mafk 

We find the fcholar and the man of fenfe, 

The friend of virtue and the foe of vice. 

Then follows courtly Waller, and in vain 



loi The Village Curate, 

On Amorct or Saccharidli calls. 

With budget full of trifles, birth-day odes, 

Congratulations, fongs, and compliments. 

And mythologic tales. Then Denham charms. 

And from his own Parnaflus, Cooper's hill, 

Sings the wide profpedl that extended lies 

Under his proud furvey. Then Sprat. And theft 

Rofcommon fills with elegant remark. 

His verfe as elegant ; unfpotted lines 

Flow from a mind unfpotted as themfelves. 

Then Wilmot tunes his reed, and in his fong 

Gives early promife of a genius, rare 

And turn'd for excellence. But ah ! how vain 

All human hopes ! The prime of life is fpent. 

His talent v/afted, and the giddy fool 

Grows old in pleafure, and denies his God. 

The grave in view, a'n honed friend his guide. 

He views his condufl with remorfe, repents, 

Acknowledges his fault, curfes the wit 

Of feeble man that fo outwits itfelf, 

And dies a martyr to the pains of vice. 

Then Yalden fings, and fills us with delight. 

His harp fo tun'd that as the morning breaks 

It moves fpontaneous rapture, and again 

At ev'ning clofe with folemn eulogy 

Wekoiaes the reign of pight. With weeping eye 



The Village Curate. 103 

But harlot cheek, thea Otway's mufe appears 

And charms the hearer with- her Syren fong, 

To decency, alas, no friend, to vice 

No enemy. His Celia then proclaims 

EnamourM Duke, at Floriana's grave 

Strewing fweet flow'rs and fweeter verfe. Then /Ings 

The gen'rous Dorfet, fmgs and fings too much, 

Scarce heard an hour. Chafte Montague fucceeds* 

Stepney lefs pure, and WaKh, with feeble wing, 

Half flying, half on foot. Then comes a bard. 

Worn out and pennylefs, and poet ftill 

Tho' bent with years, and in impetuous rhyme 

Pours out his unexhauded fong. What mufe 

So flexible, fo generous as thine, 

Immortal Dryden. From her copious fount 

Large draughts he took, and unbeleeming fong 

Inebriated fang. Who does not grieve, 

To hear the foul and infolent rebuke 

Of angry fatire from a bard fo rare ? 

To trace the lubricous and oily courle 

Of abje(5l adulation, the lewd line 

Of (hamelefs vice, from page to page ? and find 

The judgment brib'd, the heart unprincipled, 

And only loyal at th* expence of truth. 

Of juftice, and of virtue .? Meaner flrain 

The dapper wit commends of fprightljr Garth, 



I04 ^he Village Curate, 

We fmile to fee fantaftic poetry 
Shake hands with phyfic, and with grave burlefqu® 
Arrange his gallipots, and gild his pills •, 
Then march in dreadful armour to the field. 
To fcreen her new ally from hoflile (hocks. 
With peflle truncheon, Cloacinian helm. 
And leveird fquirt. Then heartily we laugh. 
With laughter-loving King, and much applaud 
That vein of mirth which, innocent and clear. 
In filver decence flows. Young Phillips then, 
Things unattempted yet in profe or rhyme, 
A Ihilling, breeches, and chim?eras dire. 
Sings gravely jocuncf Difmal Rag applauds, 
With fympathetic ardor touched, at found 
Of tatter'd galligaildns, college dun^. 
And fubtle catchpole. Modeft Pomfret then, 
To foar aloft unable, with light wing 
Above the plain fcarce elevated fkims, 
A Ihort and feeble flight. So haye I feea 
The fpaniel-hunted quail with lowly wing 
Aihear the fmooth air : and fo too have I heard 
That flie can fweetly clamour, tho' compell'd 
To tread the humble vale, nor ever mount 
High as the ev'ning fwift or morning lark. • 
The a blamelefs Hughes, in league wIthPepuch, fings^ 
Aad to the eloquent orcheflra tunes 



The Village Curate, 105 

His virtuous, unmeaning fong. And now 

In tones that might attra6l an angei's ear. 

Flows the fmooth drain of righteous Addifon. 

Then Blackmore fings an ever lading tale, 

Blefl with a callous mufe. Genius in vain 

Laughs at the proud attempt, for flill he bawls, 

And with gigantic difTonance fubdues 

The univerfal hifs. No poet fure, 

But mark the man, and you fhall find him good. 

And what's the poet if the man be naught ? 

Let Buckingham reply. Genius and wit 

May flourifh for a day, and fnatch the wreath 

From awkward honefly. But foon fhali fade 

The eafy laurels of a vicious mufe. 

While amaranthine honours crown the brow 

Of unpoetic virtue. Waller's mufe 

In courteous Granville lives, and ftill we hear 

Of Jove and Juno, Mercury and Mars, 

And all the naufeous mythologic rout. 

May he that loves hereafter, never win 

The angel he adores, if in his fong 

Be aught of pagan ornament difplay'd. 

May he be curs'd like you, unlucky bards. 

Be SaccharifTa's dupe, and Myra's fcorn. 

Who can refufe applauie to tragic Rowe ? 

Who can withhold his honeft praife from thee. 



io6 The Village Curate, 

Tickel, thou friend of Addifon, and virtue ? 

Who is not ftartled at the fertile wit 

Of beardlefs Congreve ? and who does not grieve 

It was not drawn in the defence of virtue ? 

How fweet the mufic of thy happy lines, 

Poetic Prior ; full of mirth thy mufe, 

And exquifite her jefl:. Ah ! hear it not, 

Ye fober fair, for fulfome is the tale. 

And only fit for the diftemper'd ear 

Of jolly libertines. His graver fong 

Applaud unfatisfied, and ever laugh 

To fee him mount the furious Pegafus 

Pindaric, often tried, but tried in vain, 

And never to be tam'd by crazy wits. 

'Twas an unruly and a hard-mouth'd horfe, 

* And flung his rider if he fat not fure,' 

Dan Cowley faid. Yet up fprung Mat, refolvM. 

* O'er fea and land with an unbounded loofe. 
Runs the mad fleed, a Gilpin race I ween. 
Hardly the Mufe can fit the head-ftrong horfe. 
See, now flie gallops round the Belgic (hore. 
Now thro' the raging ocean ploughs her way. 
To rough lerne's camps -, there founds alarms. 
In the dank marflies finds her glorious theme. 
And plunges after him thro' Boyne's fierce flood. 

* See his Carmen Seculare for the year 1700. 



The Village Curate^ 107 

Back to his Albion then, then with flifF wing 
Eaft, over Danube and Propontis' fhores, 
From the Mosotis to the northern fea. 
To vifit the young Mufcovite \ thence up, 
Refolv'd to reach the high empyrean fphere, 
And afli for William an Olympic crown. 
Till loft in tracklefs fields of /hining day, 
Unhors'd, and all aghaft, down, down Ihe comes. 
Comes rulhing with uncommon ruin down. 
Glorious attempt, but not unhappy fate. 
'Twas lucky. Mat, thou had'A not giv'n a name 
To fome Icarian gulf, or fhook at leafl 
The carnal man fo fore, that he had limp'd, 
And lamely hobbled to the verge of life. 
But, thank our ftars, thy pace is even yet, 
And happily the Mufe her mirthful fong 
In durance vile prolongs. So have I heard 
The captive finch, in narrov/ cage confin'd. 
Charm all his woe away with cheerful fong, 
Which might have melted e'en a heart of fleel 
To give him liberty. Hence, hence, away 
Ye meaner wits, hide your diminifh'd heads. 
See genius felf approaches. Homer's foul 
A puny child informs. Let envy laugh 
To fee an urchin ugly as her felf 
The glory of our ifle. For thee, great bardj 



fo8 The Village Curate, 

We twine the laurel wreath, and grant it thine 
Thrice-w^on. Shall any mortal tongue prefamc 
To fcatter cenfure on thy charming page ? 
Hark, 'tis the din of twenty thoufand curs 
Who bark at excellence. Who beft deferves 
Mufl feel the fcourge of infinite abufe, 
For man to man is fiercer than the wolf. 
More cruel than the tiger. Who can brook 
The fight of aught more worthy than himfelf ? 
Invite an angel from the courts of heaven, 
Our critic eye fliall fpy a thoufand faults 
Where not a fault exifls. Miflake me not^ 
I call not thee an angel, haughty bard, 
Thy deeds were human. With an honefl heart 
I love the poet but detefl the man. 
Thy purer lays what mortal can defpife. 
Thy bafcr fong what mortal can approve, 
Thou witty, dirty, patriotic Dean ? 
Laugh on, laugh on. With pencil exquifite 
Defcribe the features of adopted vice. 
And overbearing folly. Give the fair, 
The peerlefs Stella, everlailing worth. 
Deride thy narrow paper-fparing friend. 
And gall the great. But why fhall thy fweet Mufc 
Turn fcavenger, and the foul kennel rake 
For themes and fimiles ? What heart but grieves, 
4 



1 



1'he Village Curate, 109 

To find an equal portion in thy fong 
Of elegantly fair and grofsly foul? 
Now honeft Gay, a city fliepherdj fings, 
Nor fings in vain to us. In Arcady 
We love to flray, and dream of happy days 
No eye has feen, no heart has felt. We love 
The land of Fairy, and the puny deeds 
Gf dapper elves. Whate'er the frantic poet 
In his wild mood imagines, we applaud. 
Nor wholly fcorn with Gay or Broome, to flray. 
Or Ambrofe Philips, thro' enchanted land 
To painted meadows, fiov/ry lawns and hills, 
To cryilal floods, cool groves, and fliady bow'rs, 
And rills that babble, tinkle, purl, and murmur. 
How fweet the fong that from thy mellow pipe, 
Dear Parnel flow'd. Death heard, and was amaz'd, 
And his ftone couch forfook, all wonder now, 
And no-., all envy. Sure he thought no bard 
Of mortal mixture could fuch tones create. 
Or if of mortal mixture, he had liv'd 
More than the days of man, and ftol'n from years 
Due to the reign of filence and of death, 
Song fo divine. With the bad thought poffefs'd, 
He v/het his arrow on a flint, advanced, 
And flung it greedily, his liplefs jaws 
Grinding with hate. So fell betimes the bard, 
I. 



1 1 o The Village Curate. 

'So triumph'd death, and at the bloody deed 
Shook his lean bones with laughter. Cnrfed fiend, 
Thou bane of excellence, go hence, and laugh ; 
Yet fliali the pious poet fmg again, 
And thou ftialt hear, and with eternal wrath 
Ay burning, dance with agony and gnaw. 
Howling for pain, the adamantine gates 
Of trebie-bolted Hell. 

Away, kind bards ; 
Enough of you, nor (liall your fong beguile 
One moment more ; for fee again fweet Spring 
Laughs at our window, and with rofy hand 
Shews the full bloflbm and the budded leaf. 
Away, away. Some wint'ry day be thine, 
Defcriptive Thomfon ; fome December night, 
Thine, pious Young ; Ibme melancholy morn 
In wat'ry fog wrapt up, thine, orphan Savage. 
Be thou our cloie companion, Shenltone, thou. 
Sweet bard of Hagley, in the hawthorn fhade 
Some weary Summer's noon. Be thou our guefl, 
Impetuous Akenfide, fome gloomy eve, 
When the red lightning fcarce begins to glare. 
And the mute thunder hardly deigns to growl. 
Rals'd by thy torrent fong, we Hiall enjoy 
The loud increafmg horrors of the ftorm, 



The Village Curate, iii 

Awfully grand. At fuch a time thee too, 

E.apt in ferocious cxtacy, we call. 

Terrific Gray, to fweep thy fullen lyre, 

And gl'/e to madnefs the difiraflcd foul. 

Repofe at leifarc, ye inferior bards, 

Till Summer's beauty flies, and the green wood 

Scatters her recent honours to the breeze. 

So have I gayly fung the man how bled, 
The Village Curate ; weaving in my fong 
Your praife, ye fair, and many an honefl thought 
Which uhfolicited demanded room. 
I care not if no eye this page perufe. 
I fung with pleafure, and 1 end with joy. 
I fmg no more, and blame him not who ileeps, 
Carelefs what I, enamour'd of the vale 
And hilly woodland, have fo vainly fung. 
For popular applaufe, I all< it not. 
V¥ho'd be a feather in the billowy breeze ? 
True, noble critic, it were ill deferv'd, 
By this rude fong obtain'd. Yet I not fear, 
Ere the fliort tale of my exigence clofc, 
Some ilrain, by chance, on my time-mellow'd harp 
To hit, thefe woods may well remember. Yes, 
Some happy ifrain, by chance, I hope to hit^ 
if yet the Mufes love thy fam'd retreat, 

L 2 



1 1 3 The Village Curate. 

O Sidney, or thy Spenfer's early fong ; 

If yet the walks where love-fick "Waller miu'd^ 

If yet immortal SachariiTa's haunt 

Delight thenij and fweet Amoret's abode. 



A D R I A N Oi 



O R. 



THE FIRST OF JUNE, 



X AR in the bofom of an ancient wood 
Whoie frowning oaks in a deep valley grew 
Between two lofty cliiTj, and to the fea 
Stretch'd out their broad impenetrable fliade. 
There flood a cottage. 'Twas the lone abode 
Of Adriano and his only child 
Maria. Here had they been lofl, till time 
Had hurried to oblivion twenty years. 
Twas all his care to nourilh her, all her's 
To cheriPn him. He taught her to be good,. 
To love retirement and the quiet cell, 
And iliield her virtue from the fight of men 
She heard and heeded, and no pleafure knew 
Apart from folirade and Adriano. 



ii6 Adrlam ; or^ 

Her only walk without him and alone 
Was to a village near, to purchafe food. 
Or what domellic want might farther need, 
And her own induftry could ill fupply. 
And ever as fhe jocund trip*d it home. 
Her ozier bafket dangling on her arm, 
And Friflc behind her barking at her heels. 
She met her fire in tears. Conflant was he 
To meet his child returning, and his tears 
As duly fhed. Oft had (lie afli'd the caufe, 
But alk'd in vain ; till one fair fummer's eve 
(The laft that followed in the train of May) 
She nrg'd her fuit once more, and not in vain. 
He fmil'd, and told her he had things to tell 
Would wake attention in the fenfelefs rock. 

* To-morrow, child, 'tis one-and-twenty years 

* Since to this wretched world thy mother bare thee, 

< And, as I oft have told thee weeping, died. 

* She was — I cannot fay how good— God knows. 

< J could have borne the lofs. For tho' fhe died 

* To me and thee, (he liv'd to peace and Heav'n* 

< Such virtue could not perifh, but be fure 
« Is as the heav'ns eternal, and (hall die 

« Never. Yes, yes, I could have borne the lofs, 

< And thought it much to have thee left behind 
« Helplefs and ever-crying. 'Twas enough. 

% 



The Fir ft of June. ii-j 

< I might have train'd thee to thy mothers vu-tue, 
^ And fatisfied to fee her live again 

* In a defer ving daughter, have gone down 

< In humble quiet to my grave ; fecure 

« That hungry penury fhould never haunt 

* And tempt thy goodnefs. For I had, my child, 

< Enough of Fortune's bounty to fapply 

* My ev'ry want, and fomething for the hand 

' Of the lean beggar, who now fliuns my door 

* Or afks in vain. I had, my child, enough ; 

< And would I had it ftill. For when fwift time 

< Has counted all my days, and thefe grey locks 
« Are call'd to {helter in the filent grave, 

< When this refulting heart fliall ceafe to beat, 
« And this warm hand that now enclofes thine 

< Be cold and lifelefs, how fhall thy poor felf 

< Efcape the lion-tooth of craving want ? 

« Who will proteft thee from the winning baits 

< Of greedy lufl ? Who clothe thcfe tender limbs ? 

* Who give thee food V 

He faid, and faid no more, 
For grief was fv/elllng in Maria's heart. 
And the big tear ftole trembling from her eye. 
She hung her head, and look'd upon the ground 
To hide it \ but the gen'rous parent faw. 



Ii8 Aciriano ; or^ 

And caught her in his arms. ' Fear not, my child ; 
' Let us wipe off thefe unbecoming tears, 

< And ceafe to figh and fob. For he who clothes 
« The lilies of the field, iliall clothe thee too. 

< He who prote6ls the little chirping bird, 
* Hiding her nefl in foliage, and her young 

« Feeding with plenty, fhall proteft my child, 

^ Shall keep her as the apple of an eye, . 

^ Shall feed her, fliali invite her to his arms, 

' Shall fliield her with his wings. Thou ihalt befafe 

< Under his downy pinions. Thou fnalt fear 
^ By night no terror, and no florm by day. 

^ His own eternal armour fhall be thine : 
« The lurking adder ftiall not hurt thy foot, 

< Sorrow and ficknefs fhall not vex thy heart.' 

He fiiid, and led her to the cottage door, 
DifposM the baQiet, comforted and kifs'd her. 
Then to the garden bow'r together both 
Link'd arm in arm proceeded. There they fat. 
And he his melancholy tale rehearsed. 
And fhe was all attention. He began, 
And told her of his youth and boyifh days. 
Till manhood came, his aged parents died, 
And he, a fighing lover, fought a wife. 
Twice was he wedded, and his former love 



The Fir ft of June, 1 1 9 

Bore him a foil, the caiife of all his woe. 
He truio'd him, as he thought, to deeds of praife, 
He taught him virtue, and he taught him truth. 
And feat him early to a public fchool. 
Here as it feem'd (but he had none to blame) 
Virtue forfook him, and habitual vice 
GrevvT in her flead. He laugh'd at honefly. 
Became a fceptlc, and could raife a doubt 
E'en of his father's truth. 'Twas idly done 
To tell him of another world, for wits 
Knew better ; and the only good on earth 
Was pleafure ; not to follow that was (in. 

* Sure he that made us, made us to enjoy ; 

* And why, fiid he, fnould my fond father prate 
< Of virtue and religion. They afford 

* No joys, and vv^ould abridge the fcanty few 

* Of nature. Nature be my deity. 

' Her let me worlliip, as herfclf enjoins, 

« At the full board of plenty.' Thoughtlefs boy! 

So to a libertine he grew, a wit, 

A man of honour, boaflful empty names 

That dignify the villain. Seldom feen. 

And when at home under a cautious mafli 

Concealing the lewd foul, his father thought 

He grew in wifdom as he grew in years. 

He fondly deem'd he could perceive the growth 



X20 Adriano ', or^ 

Of goodnefs and of learning, fliootlng up. 
Like tlie young offspring of the fheker'd hop, 
Unufual progrefs in a fummer's night. 
He call'd him home, with great applaufe difmifs'd 
By his glad tutors — gave him good advice — 
Blefs'd him, and bade him profper. With warm heart 
He drew his purfe-flrings, and the utmofl doit 
Pour'd in the youngfter's palm. * Away, he cries, 

* Go to the feat of learning, boy. Be good, 

< Be wife, be frugal, for 'tis all I can.' 

* I will,' faid Toby, as he bang'd the door, 
And wink'd, and fnap'd his finger, * Sir, I will.' 

So joyful he to Alma mater went 
A flurdy frefh-man. See him juft arriv'd, 
Receiv'd, matriculated, and refolv'd 
To drown his frefhnefs in a pipe of port. 

< Quick, Mr. Vintner, twenty dozen more ; 

< Some claret too. Here's to our friends at home. 
^ There let 'em doze. Be it our nobler aim 

< To live — where flands the bottle ?' Then to towa 
Hies the gay fpark for futile purpofes, 

And deeds my bafhful mufe difdains to name. 
From town to college, till a frefh fupply 
Sends him again from college up to town. 
The tedious interval ilie mace and cue, 



The Firft of June. 121 

The tennis-court and racket, the flow lounge 

From flreet to ftreet, the badger-hunt, the race. 

The raffle, the excnriion and the dance, 

Ices and fonps, dice, and the bet at whifi:. 

Serve well enough to fill. Grievous accounts 

The weekly poll to the vex'd parent brings 

Of college impofitions, heavy dues. 

Demands enormous, which the wicked Ton 

Dechires he does his utmofl to prevent. 

So, blaming with good caufe the vafl expence, 

Bill after bill he fends, and pens the draught 

Till the full ink-horn falls. With grateful heart 

Toby receives, fhort leave of abfence begs, 

Obtains it by a lie, gallops away. 

And no one knows v/hat charming things are done. 

Till the guU'd boy returns without his pence, 

And prates of deeds unworthy of a brute. 

Vile deeds, but fuch as in thefe pollfli'd days 

None blames or hides. 

So Toby fares, nor heeds. 
Till terms are wafted, and the proud degree, 
Soon purchas'd, comes his learned toils to crown. 
He fwears, and fwears he knows not v»'hat, nor cares, 
Becomes a perjur'd graduate, and thinks foon 
To be a candidate for orders. Ah ! 

M 



122 Adriano ; or^ -m^ 

Vain was the hope. Tho' many a wolf as fell ^' 

Deceive the fhepherd and devour the flock. 

Thou none flialt injure. On a lucklefs day, 

Withdrawn to tafle the pleafures of the town, 

Heated with wine, a vehement difpute 

With a detefted rival fliook the roof. 

He pen'd a challenge, fent it, fought, and fell ; 

And, if there be for fuch delinquents room 

In God's eternal manfions, went to Heaven. 

The terrible report in half a day 
Reach'd Adriano's ear. His wife was dead. 
Her heav'n-afpiring foul had jufl forfook 
Its mortal tenement, her eye was fix*d. 
And in his own he prefs'd her pallid hand 
Cold as a ftone. A longing look he rais'd 
And widi'd to follow, but feverer lot 
ChainM him to earth. « Think then, mychild,'fays he, 

* Think what a flroke I felt, when in one day 
^ Thy mother died, and thy bafe brother fell, 

< Tho' bafe belov'd, tho' worthlefs yet regretted. 
' I could not pour on thy lov'd mother's bier 

* Mv debt of grief, but gave her to the earth 
' Ere I had half bewail'd her, or had once 

* That honed pleafure known the good man feels 

* In (bedding forrow o'er his buried friend. 



The Firjl of yune, 123 

I hailen'd to my fon. I found him dCvul. 
1 wept and buried him. And then I thought. 
His debts difchar^'d.to have fought thee once more 
My only comfort left, and liv'd at home 
111 honourable eafc. But ah, my child. 
Much as I thought for him, he never thought 
Or for himfelf or me. No debt was paid, 
But all my former bounty had been fpent 
On vice and folly. Not a fingle trade 
But brought me fome exorbitant demand 
On my diminiihM purfe. I paid them all, 
And little was there left for me and thee, 
To be the ilender means of our fupport. 
Thanks be to Heaven, like the widow'o crufe, 
That little never fail'd. With my own hands 
In this our garden have I daily wrought, 
And the kind earth has well repaid my toil. 
We have not wanted, bat have reap'd enough 
Thefe twenty years, and he that pines for more 
Deferves not what he has. I was content, 
And many a pleafant day have pafl, with thee. 
And my few books, and antique inftrument. 
How changed from what I was 1 but not, ^o chang'd? 
Willi I my lot revers'd, or would again 
" To the gay world return. Only for thee 
M 2 



124 Adriayio ; or^ 

Grieves my flid heartwith heavy thoughtoOpprefs'd, 

And not enough relying on his arm 

Who knows my wants andfurely will not fail irre» 

I grieve for thee, who hafc not in the world 

A friend but me, whof^ wither'd arm can do 

But little to defend thee, aad muft foon 

Do nothing. True, we found a friend of late, 

Where none had fought him, in the pleafant cot 

At the hill-foot, that Aands upon the verge 

Of this tall v;ood, and overlooks the vale. 

Gilbert is honefl, or my eyes deceive me. 

I love the two young mald^ he calls his fifiers. 

Anna is fenfibkj Sophia fair, 

A^nd both are good. 1 honour fuch. They come, 

Soon as the morrow dawns, to hall the day 

Which gave Maria birth. They fought my door 

Soon as the bird was flown, and promis'd m^e. 

But know, Maria, in this naughty world 

The garb of virtue is affum'd by vice, 

And hard it is for an experlenc'd eye 

To fay who merits. Falfliood often lurks 

Under the veil of truth, and feeming worth 

Is but the maflx to hide a villain's heart. 

Be cautious whom you truit. Make none a friend 

Till long experience has confirm'd him yours. 



The Firft of June, i: 

« But having tried his worth, and found hin:i true 
« Give him thy heart for ever. Such a friend 

< Is the bed bleiTing human life affords. 

< Find one and be content. There are not many 
( One in a million. Friendihip thus begun 

* Refines and mellows like a gen'rous wine, 

< Improves as it grows older^ and from age 

< Acquires a flavour that may charm the tafle 
« Of Cherubim and Angels. Yet be kind 

* And affable to all, and ft rive with none. 

* Give none occafion to condemn and hate 
« And wifh to injure thee, in all thy words 
« Wife as the ferpent, gentle as the dove.' 

He faid and ended, and beheld the moon 
Thro' the dark branches of a quiv'ring beech 
In mellow glory rifing. Day was fled, 
Th' expiring ray of the departed fun 
Giow'd faintly in the wefl:, and the clear flar 
That leads him up or lights him to his bed 
Was fmking faft into the fmiiing fea. 
He rofe, and with his daughter fought repofe,. 
Ne'er fought in vain under the cottage roof. 

Sleep on, ye happy cottagers, fleep on ;■ 
A wakeful eye regards you, fleep in peace^ 
M 3 



126 Adrimio ; or^ 

Ye fliall not deep again 'till forrow ceafe. 
Till Providence reward your faith and trutb^, 
And with a world of joy repay your tears.. 



iN OW day awoke, and the rejoicing fun 

llofe to the morning chorus of the wood. 

Sophia faw and heard, and Anna rous'd 

Yet deeping. Up they fprung, light as two doves ; 

And now, by fancy drefs'd, on Gilbert call 

To quit his clofet, and the fcheme complete 

They yefternight had plan'd. Gilbert was ris'n, 

And bade, the maids good-morrow with his flute.. 

Sophia heard, and feizing her guitar, 

Tun'd it in halle. They join'd, and altogether 

Down the dry path to Adriano's cot 

In filence hailed. Thither come, they paused. 

And, drawing to the window, all at once 

Their morning ferenade ilruckup. His flute 

In fmooth perfuafive tones young Gilbert blew, 

Sophia hghtly touch'd her foft guitar, 

And with angelic fweetaefs Anna fung. 



The Firjl of June. 127 

Hark ! the mufic morning brings 

To Adrlano's lone retreat, 
Ev'ry fongfter gaily fings, 

Meiody how rare and fv/eet ? 

The fleeple bell with tone fo grave 

Hear it fweJl and proudly roar. 
Hear the folemn founding wave 

Die in murmurs on the fnore. 

Hark ! the fheepcote how it rings, 

Loud the diHant heifer lows, 
The village herald claps his wings. 

Mounts the gate and floutly crows- 

Adrlano, hear and rife. 

Hear, Maria, hear and wake, ^ 

Hear and lift thy charming eyes, 

All is cheerful for thy fake. 

Maria heard, and ftartled at the found 

Sprung from her chair and threw her book afide. 

For file had rifen, as her cuilom was. 

At that fine hour when never-loit'ring day 

Forfikes his chamber, and the glorious f.in 

Shames the dull taper Diflipation holds 



\'y.% Adriano ; or^ 

To light her clofing revels. To the door 

She trip'd, and gently peeping faw iinfeen 

Who fung, who play'd. Her little heart was glad. 

And flutter'd with impatience, like a bird 

Newly imprifon'd. With fupreme delight 

She mark'd the fong and hearken'd to its clofe : 

Then lifting cautioufly the wooden latch, 

The door with filence open'd, flood revealM, 

And bade her friends good-morrow, with a fmile 

Improved and heightened by a glowing bluQi 

Might teach the morning envy. Yes, fhe blufti'd 

Where no fhame was. For fhe was meek as good. 

And fair as meek. Civility arofe, 

And ev'ry friend who enter'd fhook her hand. 

Gave joy, and took a kifs to thee, fond youth. 

With fome reluflance giv'n, and not obtained,. 

However fought, on any day but this, 

Tho' fhe efteems thee much. The board was fpread, 

And ere the guefls were feated came the hoft. 

And, with a fmile that made his hoary locks 

Lovely as youth, bade welcome. On his child 

A thoufand hearty blefTings he beflow'd. 

And kifs'd her thrice and thrice. Then 'gaa the chat,. 

And cheerfully they fmil'd at Anna's jeft 

And Adriano's tale. But little time 

Gave they to refl {o foon, accuHom'd all 



The Firfl of yune, 129 

At this fine hour to fcale the lofty cliffj 

"Where fir ft the rifing fun his beams imprefs'd 

And drank the dew. With one confent they rofe^ 

And from the wood emerging clomb the hill, 

Oft paiifing as they went, to gather breath 

And view the profpe<rc. To the top at iafi: 

They come, and drink the wholefomemorningbreezej 

Parent of health and ht?.MtY. There they walk 

And count the village i\eeples, woods and farms, 

Villas and towns. Now caiitioufly approach 

The awful brink of the bold jutting cliff, 

And look delighted on the boundlefs fea. 

Here they remark the azure plain is flill 

And fmooth as marble, covered here with fallS| 

Here flreak'd with ihadows from above, and her^ 

RufHed and fparkling like a flood of gems. 

Here they behold a chain of rocks half hidj 

And gently v/afii'd by the returning wave. 

Here the curl'd waters break upon the iliore. 

They fee the foam, and faintly hear the murmur. 

Upon the beach a fifherman they ken 

Spreading his nets to dry, his little bark 

Riding at anchor ; but a mite Is he. 

His bark a nut-dieU. But not long they look. 

For ftory tells of forae who gaz'd too much, 

And turning giddy fell, tremendous thought^ 



13^ AdrianQ ; or^ 

From top to bottom many a fathom down 

To certain death. 'Twas like a fall from Heaven. 

So cheerfully they tura'd^ and down the hill 

V7ith eafe defcended to the lliady cot. 

There fee them feated^ and the good man hear 

With many a jefl and many a merry tale 

Beguiling time, the whik Maria brews 

The fragrant tea, and fair Sophia waits 

And deals about her cakes and butter'd roll. 

From fuch a hand what mortal can ref ufe ? 

So to be waited on improves the feaft, 

'Twould make ambrofia of a peafant's bread. 

And fill his cup with ne(5lar. She was fair, 

Was exquifitely fair and knew it not.. 

Gilbert had told her fne was wond'rous plalir, 

And fhe believ'd him ; flying from her glafs 

And under-rating ev'ry grace {he had. 

She courted not the eye, but flill withdrew 

And gave the vv^ay to Anna, nothing vex'd 

To be outdone. So was the lovely maid 

Qijiet and unafTuming-, quick to ferve. 

As deeming fome atonement might be made 

For want of charms, by readinefs to pleafe. 

Anna had wit, and heartily (he laugh' d 

To hear the jeft go round, the fliuttlecock 

Wits love, and ever as it came to her 



The Flrjl of "June. iji 

She /Iruck it fmartly and it fwift return'd. 

Yet {he was generous, and never drew 

But in a caufe of honour. Her keen flroke 

Fell never on the golden fliield of trath, 

Nor treacheroufly gave a coward fear 

To unarm'd virtue. Say as much of yours, 

Ye charitable maidens of three fcore, 

Ye praters, who delight to fleal the wreath 

From merit's blifler'd hand, who nettles twine 

For virtue's tender brow, fcourge model! worth, 

And grant humility a crown of thorns. 

Anna no wreath had envied or defpoil'd. 

Only at folly, vice, and want of fenfe 

She aim'd her fliaft, and only there drew blood. 

No furgeon's lancet had a finer edge, 

And he that felt it fmil'd, content to bleed 

To purchafe health fo eafy. Gilbert too, 

Provok'd by merriment, had fenfe and humor, 

Which ever as they went kept equal pace, 

Like freeds well match'd, and neither lag'd behind. 

Or overran the other. But at home 

To graver thoughts he dedicates the day. 

Taught by his father, a deferving priefi:, 

To think. A man of rareff worth was he. 

And led his children in the paths of truth. 

He made them virtuous and died. So left, 



132 Adriano ; cr. 

To the fmall cot that overlookc the vale. 
Taking ia one wide view the down, the wood, 
The cultiii'ated champain, and the fea, 
They came lamenting^ Here they liv'd in peace ; 
And little patrimony all their care, 
Sav'd by their father from the fcanty dues 
Of one fmall living : better fav'd he thought 
Than wailed on degrees to make his fon 
A member of the churcli, which oft repays 
Endiefs expence with forty pounds a year 
Only for life. So happily they liv'd. 
Secure at leafl from want, tho' little rais'd 
Above the gen'ral herd. O happy ftate 
And only to be envied ! One fliort year 
The pleafant cottage had receiv'd its guefts. 
And only mifs'd them when the dappled morn 
Invited to the hill, or fiient eve 
Drew to the wood and Adriano's cot ! 
Or when as nov/ with early fteps they came 
To breakfafl with Maria. So they fat 5 
And time was brifk, and with his hafty bell 
Twice rung the finlfn'd hour, not nnobferv'd. 
Each compUmented each to think hov/ foon 
Hours fpeed away, when the delighted ear 
Feeds on the converfe of. the friend we love. 
And much v/as faid of life's foon-finirti'd race, 
2 



The Fir (I of June* 133 

And happinefs that fled as Toon as felt 

Light as the mornhig cloud : 'till Gilbert's hand 

Drew from his pocket the clofe-written book 

Of choice duets, and all were loud for mufic. 

Then Anna fang, and in delightful fugue 

Sophia follov/'d. Gilbert blew his flute. 

And made the mellow harmony complete. 

Then Anna paus'd and Gilbert's flute was flilJ, 

And with foft voice Sophia fang alone. 

Some awe flie felt, and with a downcafl: eye 

A modefl: fmile and lightly- waving blufli 

Gave to her fong inimitable grace. 

Then Gilbert join'd again, and Anna fang 

And fweil'd the chorus, till the lift'ning ear 

Was raptur'd with the found. And thus they fang. 

Welcome, welcome, glowing June, 

Chiefly thou its eldefl: day. 
To thee our cheerful fong we tune, 

Thou follower of airy May. 

Welcome to the fire and us, 

May no ill thy birth befal. 
May we ever greet thee thus, 

Ever v^'elcome to us all. 



134 Adriano ; or^ 

And {o they fang till the clear fun grew warm 
And the cool ihade invited. Up they rofe, 
And to a fpreading beech, whofe leafy (liield 
No fun could penetrate, the merry maids 
Repair delighted. There the table ftands ; 
In hafle Maria brings a feat for each. 
And each produces to amufe the refl 
Her work-bag and her bafket. Ev'ry tongue 
Was glib. Maria's felf had found a voice. 
And much fhe prais'd her friend's more flvilful hand. 
And much excus'd her own. To work they went, 
And Anna taught her how to toil and pleafe. 
And give the needle all the painter's art j 
And much they chatted, and of well-known youths, 
Some loving, fome belov'd, fome not efleem'd, 
In confidence faid much; nor fhall myMufe 
Divulge their fecret pafTions to the v/orld. 



The Fir ft of June. 13 



M: 



EANTIME young Gilbert, by appointment 
bound, 
Went to tlie fea, and to the garden bow'r 
Walk'd Adriano to refleft alone, 
And recollect his fcatter'd fpirits, pleased 
To fee his daughter happy with her friends. 
And much delighted at the loud difcourfe 
Under the (hady beech. liOng time he fat. 
And meditated now, now read, now wrote, 
Unwilling to difturb the lively maids. 
For well he knew that laughter-loving youth 
Cannot enjoy her flory, ferious age 
And reverend experience looking on. 

Gilbert had reach'd the fliore, and found the boat 
Impatient to be gone, the fleady breeze 
Swelling the bofom of the ilacken'd f:iil. 
He tarried not, but hailily embark'd. 
And bade the chiding fifherman begone, 
Himfelf affifted, and with ready hand 
Drew up the anchor, while the fturdy boy 
H oifted the fail, and his grave father fat 
N 2 



1^6 Adna7iG ; 07\ 

To guide the xhclm. So from the fliore they launch'd^ 

Bound to no port, but deftin'd on a cruife, 

A morning's cruife for fiih. Pleas'd was the youth j 

With utmofl joy he law the wood recede, 

Beheld his cottage dwindled to a fpeck, 

Obferv'd the fnow-white tliffs to right and left 

Unfolding their wide barrier to his view, 

.And felt the boat bound gaily o'er the waves 

I/ight as a cork. He took the helm rcjoic'd, 

And right before the wind held on his courfe 

Unheeding. 'Tv/as in vain his bufy friends 

Advis'd* diff'rent courfe, to gain with eafe 

The ihore he left. He carelefsiy went on, 

And never dream'd of danger and delay 

Never experlenc'd. Fafi: into the waves 

Sinks the far diliant fnore. The lofty cliff 

Stoops to the water, and his hoary brow 

At ev'ry wave fcems buried in the flood. 

,\nd nov/ the gloomy clouds coUecl. A ftorm 

Comes mutt'ring o'er the deep, and hides the fun» 

Hufli'd is the breeze, and the high-lifted wave. 

Portending fpeedy danger, to the fhore 

iii lurid filence rolls. In tenfold gloom 

The ilormy fouth is wrapt, and his grim frown 

Imparts unufaal horror to the deep. 

Now to the ihore too late young Gilbert turns. 



The Firji of June. 137 

The breeze is funk, and o'er the mourning waves 
Labours the bark in vain. To the ftout car 
The fi(her and his Ion repair, and pull, 
Alarm'd for fafety, till their flowing brows 
Trickle with dew. And oft the anxious youth 
Looks back amazM, and fees the lightning play. 
And hears the thunder, and beholds a fea 
Ready to burfl upon him. Oft he thinks 
Of Anna and Sophia, and of thee 
Much-lov'd Maria, and thy aged fire. 
Never perhaps again to walk with you, 
To hear you fpealc, to live upon your fmiles. 
Ye haplefs pair, what fliall become of you, 
No brother to defend you, and no father ? 

But faft the ftorm increafes. The ftrong flafli 
Inceflant gleams upon the curling wave. 
Round his dark throne in awful majefly 
The thunder marches ; his imperious roar 
Shakes the proud archof heav'n. And now the fliovv'r 
Begins to drop, and the unfteady gufl 
Sv/eeps to the fliore, and floops the flying boat 
E'en to the brink. Small diflance then, my friends,- 
'Twixt life and death; a mere hair's breadth. And yet 
Far, very far, appears the wifli'd-for port. 
And lo ! between yon rocks now feen, now lofl 
^3 



13^ Adriano ; or^ 

Buried in foam, and high the milky furge 
Rolls its proud catara^l along the fhore 
Accefs denying. To the frowning cliff 
Approach not. Mark the flrong recoiling wave. 
E'en to the bafe of the high precipice 
It plunges headlong, and the fteadfaft hill 
Wears with eternal battery. No bark 
Of forty times your flrength in fuch a fea 
Could Uve a moment. 'Twere enough to wreck 
A Britlfli navy, and her flouteft oak 
Shiver to atoms. To the faithlefs beach 
Fly with all fpeed — a hurricane purfues. 
Tempt the loud furge. If life be to be woo, 
Deferve it well ; if to be lofl, be brave, 
And yield it hardly. 

In the garden-bower 
Long time had Adriano fat and mus'd. 
At length the clouded fun, and falling breeze 
That {hook no more the whifp'ring poplar's leaf 
Repofe perfuading, rous'd him from his feat 
To view the weather. With fagacious eye 
He read the gloomy South, and foon perceiv'd 
The brooding ftorm. Quick to the maids he walks^ 
i\nd tells of Gilbert's abfence, and his wifli 
To tempt that day the ever-refllefs deep. 



ne Ttrjl of June* 139 

And lo ! a florm advancing. To the fliore 
In great anxiety they hade. His friend 
Old Adrianolov'd, and much the maids 
His orphan fiders lov'd him, and as much 
Lov'd meek Maria. On the beach they ftand. 
And o'er the flouncing furge with fteadfafl eye 
Look out. None fpies a fail ; and much they fear. 
And much they hope. Of probable delay 
And alter'd purpofe Adriano fpeaks, 
And fooths the tim'rous fair, tho' little hope. 
His bofom entertain^ of Gilbert's ilifety. 
He tells them of miraculous efcapes, 
Deliverances unthought of, and delays 
Ordain'd by Providence. At length the florm 
Grew loud, and double thunder fliook the cliiF. 
The light'ning glar'd and fhot his fiery fork 
Hard at the hill. Back to the (lielter'd cot 
Speeds the good man, a maid in either hand, 
Anna in one, Sophia in the other. 
Maria ran before. Dark was the wood 
And darker Ml the cottage. It was night 
Rifen at noon. Their fcatter'd work they feize^ 
Their chairs and table, and the welcome door 
Scarce enter ere the heavy fliow'r defccnds. 
A deluge falls, and loud the thunder roars 
Jarring the cafement. With indignant glare 



X40 Adriano ; cr^ 

The lightning flafhes, and a flood of fire 
Illumines all the wood. The powerful blaft 
Runs howling by the door, and oft they think 
They hear the crafh of the defcending elm 
Torn from its roots, or fhatter'd beech, or oak 
8mit by the bolt of Heav'n. But moll they think 
Of thee, young Gilbert, on the troubled deep 
In anguifh toft, or buried in the waves 
A prey to fharks, or call: upon the beach. 
No friend to fave thee, or thy poor remains 
Snatch from the flood, and lay them in the earth 
With decent burial. And much they wept. 
And many a tear was fhed by thy fweet eye, 
Lovely Maria, to attefl: thy love 
Never before confefs'd. For flie had lov'd 
Much lov'd the generous Gilbert, and fhe hop'd 
Ere Adriano died to find a friend. 
Perhaps a hufl^and. In extreme defpair 
Two hours they pafl:, two long and painful hours. 
None took refrefliment, but the little feaft 
Untafled flood, courting the tongue in vain.. 



The Firfz of "yum, 141 



l'\!X length the florm abates. The furious wind 
No longer howls. The lightning faintly gleams, 
And the retiring thunder fcarce is heard. 
The (liower ceafes, and the glowing fun 
Burfts from the cloud and hangs the wood with pearls- 
Fafl falling to the ground. On the dark cloud 
His wat'ry ray imprefs'dj in brilliant hues 
Paints the gay rainbow. All is calm and clear. 
The blackbird fings, and nothing of the ftorm 
Is heard, fave the grand furge v/hofe heavy fall 
Sounds awful tho' remote, and as it fmks 
With harfn concudion rakes the flinty beach. 
No longer they delay, but once again 
Speed to the /hore along the fandy path. 
They come, and lo ! the rough tormented deep 
Boils like a cauldron, like a furnace fteams. 
Who can efcape the fury of fuch wTath .'' 
A multitude they meet, who one by one 
Studioufly prowl along the founding Hiore, 
And glean the foamy weed for hidden wreck. 
And all they afi^ of Gilbert, but la vain. 



142 Adriano ; or^ 

None faw him, none the fiilier or his fon. 
Mournfully flow they travel the rough beach 
With painful fleps, lamenting as they go. 
Link'd arm in arm went Anna and Maria, 
And arm in arm a little mile behind 
Walk'd Adriano and Sophia. He 
The tender-hearted maid confol'd, and fpoks 
Of grievous accidents which oft befai 
The innocent and good, and yet require 
Steady fubmifTion and a thankful heart 
To him who fends them. Sad Maria too 
Gave grief a tongue, and comforted her friend 
Needing relief herfelf. 

And thus they walk*d 
Till to the foot of the fleep cliff they came. 
And there they faw upon the greenfward edge 
A little rais'd above them one who flood 
His arms infolded, and the roaring waves 
"With ftedfaft eye regarded, as they rolPd 
In foamy florm agalnft the cliff below. 
Glad they approach'd him, and with gentle voice 
Anna requefled, had he feen a youth 
Clad thus and thus, a fiflier and his fon. 
Or a light boat with painted fldes and flern. 
He heard her not, in admiration lofl: 



The Fir ft of Jime. 143 

At the loud confli<fl of the waves below ; 
Till turning fhort he faw furpris'd a maid 
Whofe tearful eye met his, and from whofe lips 
Fell feeble accents to his ear addrefs'd. 
He afk'd her what flie would. She pray'd again, 
If he had feen a youth 

« Fair maid/ faid he, 
« I am a flranger on this boift'rous fhore, 
« And known to none. A¥ith yefler-morning*s fui? 
« I left my home, and with a timVous friend 

< Sought thefe high cliffs and that majeflic wood, 

< In fearch of fome who in this lonely vale, 

< Such the report, feek (lielter from the world. 

< To day by noon we reach'd the utmofl: wood, 
*■ Jufl: as the ftorm began. My wary friend 

< Took refuge at a cottage by the way. 

< With him I left my fi:eed, to the v/hite fliore 

* Determin'd, the wide ocean never feen, 

* And fortune promifmg to crow^n my hopes 

* A ftorm. I came and clomb the cliff, and faw, 

* In yonder hovel flielter'd, the wild flood 

< In all its fury. With exceeding awe 

« Mingled with joy (for nature in my foul 
^ Put fomething of the raven, and I love 

< Her awful operations) I beheld 



144 Adriam ; or^ 

« The loud tempefluous waters lifted up 

* Proudly terrific, and in foamy pomp 

« Roird thund'fing to the (liore. I felt the cliff 
^ Shake at their potent onfet, while the blaft 
« Lifted the hovel's roof, and his flrong fide, 
^ Tho' ribb'd with oak, before its fury lean'd. 

* I faw the fierce and fiery lightning fall 

< And burn along the cliff, e'en at my feet 

< Expiring. The refounding thunder feem'd 

c As heav'n and earth had war, and each enrag'd 
^ Its horrid indignation had roar'd out 

* Clofe at my ear. In furious catara(fl: 

< The rain defcended, as if God was wroth, 

^ And heav'n its windows once again had op'd 
*• To drown the world. I faw the rufliing fnow'r 
« Fall on the milk-white head of yon high cliff, 
« And ileam along the down and o'er the wood, 

* And ever as the ftormy blafl blew flrong 

< And the keen lightning fliot, it feem'd to fall 

*■ In fheets of fire. Methought the battei'd earth 
^ Rock'd to and fro, as with a palfy fhook 
^ Prophetic of her end. And then I faw, 

* Scarce faw upon the bounding waves below 

« (Sad fight, and fuch as fill'd my foul with grief 

< And terror inexpreffible) a fhip, 

« Full of brave failors, in extreme diftrefs 
2 



The Flrjl of Jum. 145 

* Tofs'd on the rocks. Through all the florin I heard, 
^ Or thought I heard, the lamentable cries 

« Of fifty fouls in the full bloom of life 
^ Begging relief in vain. I faw a wave 

* Sweep half into the flood. The living half 

* Frantic with terror ran from deck to deck 

* With lifted hands and looks imploring mercy. 

* Some plung'd into the waves ; and one I faw 

< Clafp a diflra(rted female in his arms, 

< And fhield her with a father's love. In vain. 

* A larger wave came tumbling o'er the deck 

« And fwept it clear. The parent's hold was loft : 

* In the wet fhrouds I faw his drowning child 

< A mom.ent hang, then drop into the waves. 

< Some yet remain'd high on the rolling mail 

< In dreadful expectation rock'd ; but foQn 

< The welt'ring fhip was burled, her high mafl: 
« Fell to the water, and no foul was left. 

« Soon as the ftorm fubfided I came down^, 
« And faw upon the beach the fcatter'd wreck 
' Of what was once a boat. And, as I flood 

In fix'd amaze furveying the v/lld furge, 
^ I faw the roaring deep caft up the corpfe 

* Of one yet warm with life. E'en at my feet 

* The falling water left him, mangled much 

' And much diflorted -, yet he feem'd a youth 
o 



146 Adriano ; or^ 

< Of no mean birth, his locks with ribband tied, 

' His coat dark blue, his waiflcoat neatly wroughtj 

' Buckles of filver in his flioes, his knees 

* Garter'd with filk ' 

He {liid, and to the earth 
Sunk Anna fpiritlefs. Sophia too, 
Who unperceiv'd came up, and lift'ning ftood, 
And heard the flory of the fhatter'd boat. 
And how the corpfe was clothed, fhed bitter tears 
And wrung her hands, and lift her eyes to heav'n ; 
Then knelt by Anna, prefs'd her clay-cold hand. 
And rais'd her head, and laid her cheek to her's. 
And call'd, and figh'd. Maria fpeechlefs flood, 
Pierc'd to the heart. Death o'er her trembling limbs 
Spread his pale banner, and the fpark of life 
Was half extinguifh'd. On her father's necjc 
She fell, and labour'd to conceal her grief 
Too mighty to be hid. The good man wept. 
The Granger ftood aghafl. Humane he was 
And flied fome few involuntary drops 
Not knowing why, and turn'd about to hide them. 
With gentle hand he help'd to raife the maid. 
And put the cheering ether to her lip, 
And touched her temples. She reviv'd, and figh'd, 
And having found her feet and flied a flood 



The Firji of June, 147 

Of pure affecllon, with a trembling voice 
Oft inter riipted, of the ffcranger aik'd, 
^ Whither the corpfe was carried. He replied, 
« None faw it but myfelf, and I alone 

* In pity to a flranger thus expos'd 

* To hungry fea-birds and the pitilefs boor 

* Who walks the beech for plunder, rak'd a hole 

< Unfeen of any, and the fhroudlefs corpfe 

« Buried in hafte ; and came away, weli-pleas'd 
« To have done an office that myfelf had wifh'd 

< Upon the naked fhore fo ca(l. 

* But where, 
^ Where, Sir,' faid Anna, * fnall we find the fpot 

* Where the dear youth lies buried V ' Lovely maid,' 
Replied the flranger, ' with my own rude hands 

f 1 fmooth'd it as I could, t' efcape the fearch 
' Of curious plunderers, and fcarce had done 
« When a high-lifted furge with monftrous roar 
« Burfi: on the fiiore, and fiiot his foamy flrength 
« Up to the topmoft beach. I ran before it, 

* And turning could not mark the fpot myfelf [came, 
<• Where the drown'd youth was laid. Thence up I 
« And, when you faw me firff, with fleadfaft eye 

* Watch'd the approach of fomething from the wreck: 
' Which feem'd another corpfe.' 

2 



14S Adrlano ; 



Of\ 



^ O mighty God/ 
Cried Anna, ' then thefe longing eyes no moKe 
*• Shall fee our brother, our unhappy Gilbert.' 

* Gilbert!' exclaim'd the ftranger all amaz'd, 

* Gilbert ! and was it Gilbert whom thefe hands 
' Ijiterr'd ? and are the maids I fee his fiflers ? 

* I might have knov/n it, for Sophia's voice 

* Tv,'ice cali'd thee Anna, and my confcious heart 
' .Leap'd at the found. Come let me both embrace, 
' And be aiTur'd the man who thus intrudes 
c I3 a v/arm friend, who heartily partakes 

* Your grief for Gilbert*' 

Silence cham'd his tongue. 
He faid no more, but Anna's hand in his 
Tura'd (liort afide, and to his flowing eyes 
Applied the kerchief. In extreme amaze 
All ftcod. There was a paufe in grief, and joy 
Was ready with a dev/y-raptur'd eye .^^ 

To migle extacy with for row. * Yes, 
< A warmer friend,' faid he, * than greets you thus 

* Nj mortal knows. My name is Frederic !' 

* Ha ! Frederic ! and is it Frederic ? 
' Mine and my father's Frederic ?' exclaim'd 
Adoniih'd x\nna j * by what lucky chance 



The Firfl of June. 1:49 

^ In this hard hour do I again embrace 

* My faithful Frederic ?' She faid, and fprung 
And caught him in her arms, and on his neck 
Breath'd out in tears unutterable joy. 
Unutterable grief.' 

* Thy Frederic^ 

* Thy faithful Frederic, and only thine,' 

Said he, ' is he who holds thee. To this vale 
I came in queft of thee, doubly rejoic'd 
To bear good news to Gilbert, and to thee 
A heart unchang'd. I mounted not the cliffy 
Till I had fought in vain the humble cot 
Where fame reported Gilbert was concealed. 
Years have elaps'd fmce at a friend's retreat 
I met thee, Anna, lov'd thee and was lov'd. 
Our fathers faw the Urong attachment made. 
And thought it beft to feparate our hands 
Till age had taught us prudence, and our love^ 
Of childifh pailion clear, to pure efteem 
And rational regard had mellow'd down. 
Yet am I child! Ih flill, and in my foul 
Perceive no alter'd love, no warmth abated. 
Firfl in my mind is Anna when I wake, 
Laft ere I fleep. She is my thought all day^ 
My conflant dream all night.' 
03 



130 Adriano ; or, 

' O Frederic, 

< And canil thou,' mid fhe, < to a maid fo lofl 

< Be trae and faithful ? Canfl thou love me flill 
' All deftitute of friends, no father left 

< No brother to defend me ? Canfl thou grieve 

« To fee thefe tears ? And fhall the fame kind roof 
^ Receive Sophia and my wretched felf 

* Never to part ? Take then my hand, and Heav'n 
' Mix no repentance in thy cup.' 

< Dear foul, 
^ Can I ?' — faid he, ^ inhuman were my hearty 
' Could I not love thee in the perilous hour, 
' As much or more than in the cloudlcfs day 
' Of gay profperity. Be thine my roof, 
' And thine Sophia. All my purfe can give 

* Shall purchafe happinefs for you and me. 

* Come, let us haflen homeward. By the way 

* Fll give you fhort account of better lot 

* Now intercepted, and to-morrow's fun 

^ Shall launch us on the world to live anew.' 

* Stay, gentle flranger,' Adriano cried, 
Who filently had jftood and mark'd his word?,. 
And joy'd and griev'd, « a little moment flay. 

Be not too hafly to deprive my child 



The Firjl of June. 151 

< Of thefe her amiable only friends, 

* Nor pluck from me my fecond befl fupport 

* Of age and weaknefs. Be till night at leafl 

* My guefts, and end the melancholy day, 

' Begun with joy, in my poor fhelterM cot. 

* To leave me thus would be a lofs indeed. 

* 'TwQuld break my poor child's heart.* 

The ftranger turn'd 
And bow'd obedience, by the tender fair 
With eafe perfuaded, in his heart inclin'd 
To meet the good petition witii confent. 
So filently they went, and Fred'ric told 
The purpofe of his journey. Joyful news 
He thought to bring to Gilbert and his houfc. 
But Providence, who ev'ry ill removes 
And gives us only good, by fudden change 
Had other wife ordain'd, and what he wills 
Is beft for man. A rich relation died 
And left to Gilbert a complete cftate. 
But if he died and left no child behind. 
It went to Ronfort an mimanner'd youth 
Bred at his mother's knee, the very man 
Who came with Fred'ric to the lonely wood. 
Unw^elcome was the news, and ev'ry heart 
Throb'd with the tranfports of augmented grief. 



152 Adriano ; or^ 

Sweet comfort fled, and Frederic flrove in vain 
To flay the courfe of unavailing tears. 
So home they came, in filent forrow fat. 
Bread of affliction ate, and drank the cup 
No longer fweet, unmingled with content. 

O grief, thou blefTing and thou curfe, how fair 
How charming art thou, fitting thus in flate 
Upon the eyelid of ingenuous youth, 
Wat'ring the rofes of a healthful cheek 
With dew& of filver ! O for Lely's art 
To touch the canvas \tith a tender hand, 
And give a faithful portrait of thy charms 
Seen thro* the veil of grief, fweet maid, Sophia-,. 
O for the pen of Milton, to defcribe 
Thy winning fadnefs, thy fubduing figh. 
Gentle Maria •, to defcribe thy pains, 
AfTiduous Frederic, to alleviate grief 
And hang a fmile upon my Anna's brow y 
To paint the fweet compofure of thy looks, 
Expericnc'd Adriano, thy attempt 
To waken cheerfulnefs, and frequent eye 
Stealing afide in pity to Maria. 
• Be comforted,' he faid, and in the founds 
Was mufic ev'ry ear was pleas'd to hear. 
But thy availing voice was not like, his 



The Firjl of June, 153 

Who bade the deep be ilill and it obeyed. 

A tranfient gleam of peace one moment Ihoney 

But forrow came the next. 

Short time they fat 
For Fred'ric now bethinks liim of his friend, 
And begs the good man's leave to be excus'd 
Till early eve, or till he finds at leafl 
The roving Ronfbrt. Well he knew, the yoiuh^ 
Was fiery and impatient, and perhaps 
Might combat danger thus alone, unus'd 
To win regard by gentle courtefy, 
In words precipitate and harfli, in deeds 
Rude an<d defpotic. To partake his walk 
Anna reqaeiled, and he gave confent; 
Well knowing love has many tales to tell 
Tit only for the ear of him who loves. 
So forth they walk'd, and to his weeping child 
The careful father went. He drew a feat. 
And fat between Maria and her friend. 
One hand of each he took, and bade them ceafc 
And {lied no bitter tears for Gilbert's death, 
For death was happy. *Twas a kind reprieve 
To a fad exile, freedom to a Have, 
Wealth to a beggar. *Twas a private door 
Open'd by Mercy to let in her fon, 



154 Adriano ; or^ 

The poor, unhappy, cheated pilgrim, man. 
Into the land of reft : that happy hnd, 
Once his but loll:, o'er whofe fafl-bolted gate 
Infulted Jnftice waves her fiery ivv-oid 
And fvvears no foul fhall enter. Yet there was 
One entrance ieft^ left by that gracious God, 
Who made the Heavens and this revolving Earth, 
Who fpake and it wms done. He gave the key 
To Mercy, Mei-cy was for Man. 

But words 
Were not fufRcient to remove their grief. 
He paus'd — he pitied. GenVous fyn:ipathy 
Thrill'd in his heart, and mounted to his eyes. 
He took his hat, and left them with a figh. 

Nor /it they long. Each takes a book by chance 
Not purpofing to read,'bi!t fteal away 
And feed the furrows of her heart r.lone. 



The Firji of June, 155 



INTO the wood they went. Sophia turn'd* 

Maria wander'd on. Nor flays her foot. 

Till to the margin of a brook (he comes 

Swell'd by the morning's rain. Thro' the dark wood 

It's troubled torrent ran, and falling hoarfe 

From a green bank on little rocks below 

Made mufic not ungrateful to her ear. 

She look'd about, and faw no friend behind. 

She fliut her book and on a painted bench 

Erected long ago by fome rude hind 

Under a poplar's fhade that overhung 

The huddling brook, (lie fat her down and fob'd 

Till forrow had its fill 5 then wip'd her eyes, 

And iean'd her arm againfl: the poplar's bark, 

Her head againfl her arm. The other hand 

Held fail the book and tear-dipt handkerchief. 

She look'd upon the brook, and mus'd awhile. 

Watching the bubbles as they rofe and burft. 

At length perfuafive reft her eyelids clos'd 

And all in graceful negligence reclin'd 

She flept, if lleep it may be call'd, that fiU'd 



i^o Adria7io ; or. 

Her troubled mind with images of woe 
And death. 



Meanwhile in fad and thoughtful mood 
Thrice round his garden Adriano walk'd. 
He fhook the drooping lilac, rais'd the pea, 
Supported the gay flock, and brufh'd the dew 
From the full budded pink. With tender hand 
Maria's fhelter'd flower-pots he cheer'd, 
Removing aught might hurt the cautious bud 
Of balfams, myrtles, rofes, or the plant 
So finely fenfitive. At length he turns 
And feeks the maids he left, but finds them not. 
Deferted was the cottage, only Frifk, 
For ever faithful, at the threfliold flept. 
Wide open ftood the door, and feem'd to tell 
Whither the maids were gone. He drew it to. 
And Frifk before him, fought the 'cuflom'd walk 
Thro' the dark wood. Sophia foon he faw 
(Her book w^as open but flie read it not.) 
In thoughtful poflure now, now walking brifk 
And now in warm diflrefs looking to heav'n. 
The tears fafl falling down her flufler'd cheek. 

* What reads my child ?' he cried ; ^ fome tender 
^ Of virtuous fufF'ring?' Startled at the voice [tale 

2 



The Firjl of June* i^y 

She Jliut her book, and wiping her warm cheek 

Put it away diforder'd. ' Let me fee j' 

Said Adriano kindly, < let me fee 
What tale has pow'r to wring exhaufled grief 
To fach a flood of woe 1' He feiz'd the book 

And found it Wertcr's Sorrows, * Ay, my child, 
A wretched tale, but not to be believ'd. 
O peflilent example, to defcribe 
As worthy pity and the fair one's tears 
Deeds by no arguments to be excus'd. 
"Who kills himfelf, involves him in the guilt 
Of foulefl murder. True, no written law 
Commands our Ilrifl forbearance, but be furc 
The laws of nature are the laws of God ; 
And lie, \v^:o faid thoufjalt not murder.^ made 
This iiniverfal law that binds our hands 
From mifchief to ourfelves* Elfe why fo ftrong 
The love of being and the fear of death ? 
Why flands the tortur'd lick on the grave's brlnl; 
A.nd trembles to flep in ? Why linger I, 
AiTur'd that nothing painful v/aits me there ? 
'Tis God's decree engrav'd upon the heart 
To make us wait with patience, till he comes. 
Undraws the curtain, and difpels the gloom. 
And takes us to his bofom., and rewards ~ 



158 Adria)2o ; or. 

Our conllancy and truth. That mortal then 

V/ho (huns the fuff'rance of imDendincr ills. 

Is cowardly and rafh. For what more radi 

Than wilfully to fpoil a noble work 

God made and faid let live ? what more betrays 

Rank cowardice, than tlm'roufly to iliake 

And fiy diftratfted at a foe's approach ? 

Can there be aught more painful, than to lofe 

An amiable wife ? in one (hort hour 

To fall from affluence and joy and peace 

To poverty and grief ? Can there be felt 

Heavier misfortune, than to lofe a fon 

And find myfeif a beggar at his death ; 

Forc'd into folitude without a friend. 

And only one poor little weeping child 

To be the flid companion of my grief? 

Yet am I living ilill, and kifs the hand 

That fmote me fo feverely. Tell me not 

That life has pains too heavy to fuoport. 

Look towards Calvary, and learn from thence 

The noblefl fortitude is flill to bear 

Accumulated ills, and never faint. 

We may avoid them, if we can with honour ; 

But, God requiring, let weak man fubmit. 

And drink the bitter draughty and not repine. 



ne Firji of June, 159 

<• Had Cato been a Chrlftian, he had died 

* By inches rather than hai'eta'en the fword 

* And faU'ii iiniike his mailer.' 

^ Yes J good Sir,' 
Anfwer'd Sophia, with a downcafl: ej'e 
Turning the leaves, ' and he, v/ho feels like mc, 

* Would fooner bear all human woes in one, 
' Than fly to death for fuccour, and deflroy 
' A parent's peace for life.' 

< 'Tis juflly fuid,' 
Cried Adriano, at the pious thought 
Touch'd with afFeftion, < and the man who dies, 
' Provok'd to madnefs by adult'rous love, 
' Ignobly dies. A more difgraceful end 

* No fentencc could infliift.' 

*■ And fhe who loves,' 
Replied Sophia, « and divides her heart, 

* Giving it not entire to him (he weds, 

^ Deferves no pity, fulTer what (lie \vilL' 



' Doubtlefs' faid he, * O it delights me much 
* To find fuch fenfe in woman, fne can fee 
« The fatal tendency of tales hke thefe. 
p 2 



I So Adriano ; o?'^ 

"^ 'Tis thus the arch deceiver, bufy ilili 

* To riiia man, befets the female heart, 
' Infinuates evil counfel, and inflames 

« The hungry paffions, that like arid flax 

^ Catch at a fpark, and mount into a blaze. 

« Tlie paffions heated, reafon ftrlves in vain -, 

* Her ea^plre's loIV, and the diftracired foul 
' Becomes the i]>ort of devils, wholly bent 
' To turn and wind it in a v\'orld of iin/ 

' 'Twere dang' reus then,' cried fhe, * however good 

* To trufl our judgment in a tale like this V 

' Dang'rous indeed,' faid he, ' for what young maid 

* Can 'iO diAinguiili between good and ill, 
« Ag not to love and pra61:Ife both alike, 

' When both are painted lovely. Trufl me, child, 
' There lurks a ferpent in this flow'ry path 
'^ Shall fling thee to the quick. Better defifl 
« And enter not at all, than be feduc'd 

< Ey its befl fruits, till appetite increa-fe, 

' And ilep by Hep the cautious foot advance 

< Till no return be found. The thirfly tongue 

< May tafte the fpring it naufeates and abhors, 

^ Till cultom makes it fweet. And frequent ufe 
« May fo befool the feafe, to make it Ipng 



The Firjl of June. i6i 

* And drain the cup and drink the pois'noiis dregs, 
« Rather than quit it for the draught of health. 



* If then/ rejoin'd Sophia, * tvales like thefc 
' Ought never to attraft a female^s eye, 

* Tell me, good Sir, for I have long'd to afk, 

* What fliall we read ?' 



« What read, my chid ?' fuid he. 
Read thy Creator in his word and works. 
Follow Philofophy, and hear her fpeak 
Of other peopled worlds, and other funs 
Enlight/ning worlds unheard of. See her draw 
The ample circle, and defcribe the lav/s 
Of this our little univerfe, which lies 
Vvlthin the ken of our aitirted eye. 
Be with her when flie turns the fpotred globe, 
And fliews the caufe of feafons, day and night,, 
In equal portions dealt to all mankind. 
Attend her to the field, with fludlous eye 
Clofely examining whate'er ihe fees. 
Hear her difcourfe of wlfdom in the brute, 
The fidi, the fowl, the infeft, plant and iiowV, 
In ev'ry particle alive or dead 
From the cloud<ovcrM mountain's highefl peak 
[ Down to the center. Follow Hiilory, 
r 3 



1 02 Adrlano ; or^ 

* And hear her juftlfy the ways of God'^ 
« Requiting evil, and rewarding good, 

* And holding up to honour and efteem 

* The great example. Follow Poetry, 

* And mark her epic fong and tragic aft, 

' And only leave her when indecent mirth 

^ Turns wit to madnefs. I could tell thee, child, 

' Would time permit, a thouHmd wholefome paths 

' Where profit only with amufement dwells, 

^ And where no danger lurks. Be fuch as Grey,. 

* Or More's attentive daughter. From his lips 
' A family grew wife, and ev*ry ear 

* Drank pure inftru6lion. Like a fummer fun 
« On all about him his ben'ignant ray 

* Shed happy influence, and ev'ry child 

' Improved and cherifh'd by the glowing beam, 

< Shone like a planet. Chiefly flie the firfl, 

* The morning ilar, how exquifite her charms^ 

* For ever near and dancing in his fmiles, 

' i\nd (hining moft the parent orb eclips'd. 
^ Be iuch as Bacon's mother, il^ill'd to rear 

* Her infant prodigy j or fuch as fne 

« The gallant Sidney's fifter, learn'd and good, 

< Whofe like ere death fnall kill, expiring time 

< Shall throw a dart at him and fliut the grave, 

< Learn by what arts ingenious Fackington 



The Firfi of June* 163 

To lading honour rofe ; how Mafham won 
Locke's juft regard ; how pious Norton's child 
In early greatnefs died ; how Aflell fhone 
The glory of her age. Seek thefe^ my child. 
And let none go beyond thee. To excel 
Be all thy wifh at morningj noonj and night. 
But fhun the ilow'ry path where no good dwells. 
And guard thy virtue as a precious gem 
Much envied and foonjofl. Another time, 
If yet the wood, the cottage, and the dowa 
Have charms to flay thee, Gilbert gone for ever, 
I will indrufl thee farther. Live with me, 
And be Maria's friend, and eat my bread. 
And be my fecond daughter.' 

' Thanks, good Sir,' 
Sophia faid, and in one modefl look 
Convey'd fuch gratitude as angels feel, 
la the great world above. And now again 
Grief fwell'd her heart, and tears ran down her cheek. 

* Come,' faid the careful father, « weep no more* 
^ Go to the cot, ere chilly ev'ning come, 
^ And the damp wood afFccl thee. Where's my 
daughter ?' 



1 64 Jdriano ; or, 



Under a pophr's rnade that overhung 
The nolfy brook, upon a painted bench, 
Maria fat and flept,. But fcarce her eyes 
Had clos'd, when Roniart looking for his friend. 
And angry to be left fo long alone. 
Came fcowling to the fpot. He faw the maid. 
And flood a moment in amazement loft. 
His anger ceas'd, and pleafure in its ftead 
Sat on his brow exulting. So retreats 
The morning cloud before the rifmg fun, 
And day that louring wak'd forbears her frown 
And foftens to a fniile. Nearer the maid 
He drew, enraptur'd with her charms. He gaz'd. 
And all the villain came into his heart. 
He long'd, and yet he fear'd to touch. For vice 
Is ever aw'd at goodnefs, and begins 
Her treach'rous a6l whh fear and doubt, alliam'd 
To fee herfelf {o bafe, and of her prey 
Inly defj^airing, fmce no pow'r can force 
Strong hcav'n, no jflrength withfland his fiery arm 



T.he Firfl of June, 165 

Who fights for virtue. With a trembling hand 

He flole the book and read — he drew away 

And klfs'd her handkerchief, and touch'd her hand. 

So plays the hungry tiger with his prey, 

Whetting his appetite by long reilraint. 

She mov'd, and figh'd. He throb'd with expcflauon, 

And ready flood to catch her in his arms 

Soon as her eye-lids rofe. She flept again. 

He fat befide her, and with curious eye 

Survey'd her, as he thought, all unobferv'd : 

But clofe behind him, by a tree concealed. 

Stood one in xxxiCic habit clad, and watch'd 

His guilty motions. To the brook he came, 

And law the maid afleep. Jufl then he heard 

The ileps of Ronfart, and v/ithdrew unfeen. 

So when at lait th' impatient youth arofe. 

And wak'd the maid, and feiz'd her in his arms 

And thought him of his wicked a(Sl fecure, 

Ere he could fix his longing lips on hers, 

He aim'd a blov/ at the young villain's head 

That feird him to the earth. 'Twas Gilbert. 

Struck 
With terror and amaze Maria fled, 
But knew 'twas Gilbert. To her fire fhe came 
Jull parting from Sophia, out of breath. 



h66 Adrla?20 ; or^ 

And fo dlforder'd between fmiies and tears, 
She found no tongue. She took Sophia's hand 
And led her trembling to the brook. They rar. 
And Adrlano follov/'d. Ere they canie 
Ronfart had rifen, and in furious wrath 
Kigh-menaclng at Gilbert ran. His voice 
Drew Fred'ric and his Anna to the fpot. 
Returning home wearied with fruitlefs fearcb. 
They came in time to fee a fecond blow 
Drive Ronfart back, and plunge him in the brook. 
Then came Sophia and the injur'd maid. 
And Adriano. Fred'ric was enrag'd, 
He feiz'd the collar of the man unknown. 
And had not feiz'd in vain, but Anna faw 
And knew her brother, fair Sophia faw 
And knew him. All were fatisfied 'twas GIlbcrf» 
So eagerly they ran and kifs'd his cheek, 
And hung upon his neck, and wept for joy. 
And he wept too, and tenderly carefs'd 
Thee, dear Maria, and thy breaking heart 
Fill'd full with confolation. 

Then he turn'd, 
And with auflere regard on Fred'ric look'd 
Who ftatue-like in blank aftonhhment 
Stood fix'd, and fternly afii'd him, « what he would.' 



The Fir ft of June. 167- 

Speedy as lightning Anna ran between. 
And cried, * 'tis Frederic/ 

« It matters not/ 
Said Gilbert, * who it is. The man who thus 

< Seizes my throat, muft iliew me ample caufe, 

< Or I niall call him to a (harp account 

« Tho'he beFred'ric my much-honour'd friend.' 

« Who fees his friend,' cried Fred'rlc, ^ thus abus'dj 
« Beat to the earth and wallow'd in the brook, 

* And gives him no affiftance, is a coward. 

< Let him who injur'd Ronfart fliew me caufe, 
« Or I (hall call him to a fharp account 

« Tho' he be Gilbert my much-honour'd friend.' 

« Then hear,' faid Gilbert. ^ To this fpot I came 

< Intending hurt to none. From the loud furge 

< But ill efcap'd, and climbing the rude cliiF 

< Thro' a fleep moulder'd gap, at a fmall hut 

* Belonging to the fifrier and his fon, 

* I found this fait, and changed it for my own 

' All dripping wet. Soon as the tempefi: ceas'd 

< I left the hut thus clad, and tow'rds the wood 

* Can.-:c with all fpeed, well knowing thefe my friends 



i68 Adr'iano ; or^ 

And thefe my fifters had not hearts of fVeel, 
And might be griev'd at my delay. I faw, 
Jull: as my weary feet had reach'd this fpor, 
This lovely maid upon that bench afieep. 
I faw and was refrefh'd, but had not gaz'd 
A moment's fpace, ere yonder villain came, 
Thy friend, and I retir'd, and unperceiv'd 
Beheld the dev'lifli antic at his wiles. 
I knew his purpofe (for the outward a6t 
Gives true afTurance of the inward mind), 
And burning with impatience flood awhile, 
Till he all paflion feiz'd the helplefs maid 
Alone and fleeping, and with touch profane 
Thought to have feafted on thofe crimfon lips 
And that vermillion cheek. I Iprung to help her 
And lure my arm had more than ufual fl:rength 
For with one blow I fell'd him to the earth, 
And fet the captive free. She fled alarm'd 
And hardly llaid to cafl one thankful look 
On him who fav'd her — but that gracious fmile 
Repays me well. The fnamelefs villain rofe, 
And curling me by ev'ry name above 
Ran at my life. The fecond blow you iW 
Which plung'd h\m headlong in the miry brook. 
And if an adl like this can need defence 



The Fir/i of June, 169 

« I (land prepar'd to give it, for be fure 

« Had it been Fred'ric I had done the fame, 

« And Fred'ric had defcrv'd it.' 

* Yes, and more,' 
Cried FredVic, at his guilty friend incens'd, 
^ Give me thy pardon, and chaftife the boy 
« Till double recompenfe atone the wrong. 
« My arm fhall lend aiTiitance.' 

* No, my friend/ 
Said Gilbert, * let him ftand aloof, while thus 

* We join our bands in frlendftiip. If he dares 

* Again to break the peace of this calm v/ood> 

* Again my arm (hall teach him to be juft.' 

< Thy arm fliall teach me, ignominious boy !' 
RoArt replied, and haughtily advanced ; 
< O Fred'ric, I'm aftonifh'd thy cold ear 

* Can drink a tale fo falfe. 'Tis all a lie. 

* His was the purpofe to aflault the maid 

« And mine to fliield her. By thefe hazels hldj, 

* I faw the villain to the bench advance 

* And oiFer violence. My heart was hot, 

* And 'gainft my brave attempt to combat force 

* And rcfcue innocence, his arm prevail'd* 



170 Adriam ', 



or^ 



* But think not, Gilbert, to efcape me thus. 
« If there be courage in thee, and thefe rags 

* Cover no coward's heart, in half an hour 

* Meet me again. This be the fpot, and come 

* Prepared for meafures that may beft acquit 

* My injured honour.' 

' Yes,' faid Fred'ric, <'tis, 

* 'Tis all a lie. Thy purpofes no doubt 

* Were fair and good. Look at the injured maid 5 

* The frown of indignation caft on thee, 

* The fmile beflowM on Gilbert, are ftrong proofs 

* Thine is the caufe of juftice and of truth. 

* Thy fury fhews thee honeft, and thy wrongs 

* Cloth'd in the modefl Ayle of injur'd worth 

* Befpeak a friend's compaflion. I rejoice 

* Gilbert yet lives to difappoint thy hopes 

* Thou man of honour, to reward thy deeds J' 

* Thou man of courage. In my foul I loath 

* The wretch who dares be wicked, yet complains 

* Of injur'd honour, and defends his aft 

< With fpecious lies and feeming honefty. 

* O Gilbert let me give thee double joy, | 

* Efcap'd the troublous ocean and reflor'd 

* To thefe and me. We thought the roaring furge 

< Had wreck'd thy bark and cafl thee up, and I 



.i 



The Firji of June, i 'j i 

* In pity to a mangled corpfe unknown 

' Hiid giv'n thee hafty burlil iii the beach, 
' Jt griev'd me much^j for to the v/ood I ca:ne 
< With joyful news. The wealthy Rowley dead 
« Gives thee his v/hole eftate. Enjoy it long 
^ And be the father of a nnni'rous race, 
V And Ronfart's fccond hope prevented thu3 

* Remain iinfatlsiied for ever. Come, 

* Let us be gone and leave the valiant boy 

* To meditate at leifure. lie may find 

* A furer way to honour, than to lurk 
« And oiFer infult to a keeping maid, 

« To menace her prote6lor, and demand 

* Stri<ft fHtisfa<5lion when no head but hiy 

* Deferves the llroke of juflice/ 

Gilbert Hood 
With thoughtful brow revolving in his mind 
Old Rowley's goodnefs, cheerful now, now grave. 
In doubt was he, or to accept his lot 
Or love the cottage ftill. Of the wide world 
He little knew, nor much had feen to blame \ 
And novelty had charms to win his heart. 
But here Maria dwelt, and what was v/ealth 
Or what was life without her ? His diflrefs 
Good Adriano faw, and mark'd his eye 
Q.2 



i;^ Adriam ; or^ 

Oft turning to Maria. « Why/ faid he, 

* Stands Gilbert faltVing thus, the only foul 

* That not rejoices at his own good lot V 

* 'Tis flrange indeed/ faid Gilbert, * but my mind 

* Is doubtful of its choice. On either hand 

* A happy lot invites me, and to each 

< My wavering heart inclines. Here ftands the world, 

* And with a ft.fcinating fmile attrafts, 

* And talks of duties between man and m.an, 

* Of laurels to be won and praife deferv'd 

' By public fervice. Sweet retirement there 

^ Shews me her boundlefs treafures, bids me drinks 

* At her eternal fountain of delights, 

« And rove, and read and prattle to my friends 

< In the fine eafe of unmolefted life, 

< And how fhall I forfake the funny down, 

< How leave the fliady wood, the cot and thee, 

< And dear Maria ? Who (hall guard her then 

< From the fly lurking villain ?' 

* Fear thou not/ 
Said Adrlano fmillng, * let us live 

< Unheard of flill. There is a God above 

« Who loves the good, and guards them from all ill:i:. 

< And he fhall lend me to prote(^ my child 



The Fir ft of June» 173 

* A {iiield of adamant. Go feek the world 

' Shine in the public eye. Be great and good. 

* Employ thy talents to a noble end, 

* And pay them back with int'refi:. Other downs, 

* And other woods, and other fmiling friends, 

* And other manfions fhall delight thee there. 

* Forget Maria and her father's cell, 

* And live with men, and feafl thy ear with mirth 

* Thy eye with beauty.' 

* Never/ cries the youth, 

< O never, never. Let me fooner die 

« Than leave the friends I love. I cannot quit 

< The fhady cottage and the funny down 

* Thefe many years remcmber'd, often fought 

* At morning and at eve. My native foil 

^ I cannot leave thee, how much lefs my friends^ 
« Thee Adriano and thy duteous child 

< Maria. Give me her and to the world 

* I go rejoicing, for I muft confefs 

< I love her much.' 

* I know thou lov'll: her much,* 
Said Adriano, ^and thou did'ft enough 

< Well to deferve her heart. But how (hall I 

* Support the abfencs of an only childj 

Q.3 



174 Adriano ; of, 

* Scarce able now to live, by her good hand 
< Suflain'd and cherifh'd ?' 



« Be together flill/ 
Cried Gilbert warmly, * and my houfe thy home, 
« What fays Maria ?' 

On the ground were fix*^d 
Her modeft e3'es, and downcaft was her head. 
She fmooth'd her apron's hem and fmil'd afide. 
And lovely blufhes wav*d upon her cheek. 
She look'd at x\driano for his leave. 
And gave her hand to Gilbert. Her meek eye 
Met his tranfported, and a look of love 
Shot to his heart. He kifsM her glowing cheeky, 
And Adriano fmil'd. The happy iign 
Maria faw, and fell upon his neck. 

And, * O Maria, my dear chil'd,' he faid, 
' This ^\'as the happy hour I long'd to fee. 

< My daughter wedded to a worthy youth 

< Who fo deferves her, fills my heart with joy= 

< I a(k no more -, kind Heav'n has fully paid 

• For all my former pains. Be happy thefe, 

< I leave the world in peace, content to die 

* Aiidgo to her whofe lofs thefe eyes have wept 



The Firft; of "June, 175 

^ Thefe twenty years. Maria, love thy Hufband. 

* Be kind to him as thou waft: kind to me, 

^ And he fhall love thee with as perfedl love. 

< A few (hort days, perhaps, and I am gone; 

* My office is expired, and what can I 

< To be of fervice more ?' 

* Come, come,' faid Gilbert, 
' Live and rejoice with us. A fev/ fhort years 

* Of the beft: happinefs this world affords, 
« Shall not o'erpay thee for thy daily care 

« To rear this lovely maid. Great was the gift, 

* And pure rs the efleem that gift has won. 

< Oh ! my heart longs to Ihew thee what it owcs;, 

* And make thy happmefs complete ais mine. 

* To-ftiorrow let us hence. Another day 

* Shall m^ake Maria mine. I cannot refi: 

* Till I have fhewn to an admiring world 

< How fair a rofe has in the defert fprung.' 

O ye miftaken belles, who fondly thiniL 
'Tis prudent to engage the public eye 
Ere infancy expire ; to lead the dance ; 
Parade the public walk and crowded ftreetg. 
Prate to the grinning coxcomb, and engage 
The eager eurs of an ajQfembled roui 



176 Adrlano ; or. 

All hungry to devour your pert remark, 

To fcream at the full concert unabalh'd, 

And foremoft fit in the projefting box 

Till the fine blulh forfakes you, learn from hence 

Who quits her modefty foregoes a grace 

Which nothing can compenfate. The fix'd blufli. 

Or true or borrow'd, has few charms for man. 

Be all the morning's beauty on thy cheek, 

It fhall not win me if it ne'er retire 

And come again, by juft occafion call'd. 

Be all the evening's fplendor in thy eye, 

It (hall not pleafe me if the flubborn lid 

In fweet abafhment never fall. Perufe 

All living nature ; what but modefty 

Pervades the heav'ns above and earth beneath. 

The mighty author of the world, whofe hand 

Creates all beauty, flies before the fcarch. 

We fee the traces of the glorious art, 

But feek the finger that performs in vain. 

In darknefs and in clouds he wraps him up, 

Withdraws, and only wlfhes to be feen 

In thefe his works ; though beautiful no doubt 

The fource of fo much beauty, beyond thought 

Engaging to the eye and cv'ry fenfe. 

That prefence he denies. O modefty 

Beyoiid example charming ! In his wordj 



The Firft of June* ifj 

And him the pattern of his Father's deeds 
AfTuming poverty to hide the God, 
Read him llill modeft ; and retreating dill 
Though flill purfucd. He yet remains iinfeea. 
Though on the footftool of his throne we ftand 
And feel ail God about us. Hence, ye fair, 
Learn to efleem the god-like gift, .and meet 
The public eye with caution, left the blufh 
By conAant admiration put to flight 
Difdain to come again, and all the charms 
Which nature gave you to engage our hearts 
Be gone, and leave you with no power to pleafe. 



^^ILBERT was marching with Marians arm 
Fail lock'd in his, when Adriano fpoke. 

* Stay Gilbert, paufe awhile, and ere we go 

< Another match approve. This worthy youth 

< (For fuchi deem him tho' not known a dviy) 
« Has giv'n his heart to Anna, flie to him. 

< While yet we thought thee loil, (lie told hef lore 

* All deflitute of friends, and nobly he 

« Refolv'd to love her in the hour of need» 



* As much or more than in the cloudlefs drty 

* Of gay profperity. The fame kind roof 

* Was to receive Sophia and herfelf 

* Never to part/ 

* O admirable friend •, 
« The friend in need,' fliid Gilbert, * is a friend 

* No bounty can repay.' He took their hands 
And joind them, and a thoufand blelTings gave, 
He wifh'd them, health, and peace and long to live 
As happy as Maria and himfelf. 

Then all were cheerful and the kifs of love 
Went round. Good humor fat on ev'ry cheek, 
And ev'ry eye was merry. The clear moon 
Rofe on the wood, and difappearing half 
Under the border of a fable cloud. 
Hung like a drop of gold. The pleafmg fight 
All faw delighted, -idriano moft 
Who firft perceiv'd the filent orb had ris'n 
And ev'ning flol'n upon them. With gay heart 
He fummons to the cottage, there to fit 
To eat to drink and while away an hour 
Before they reft. Young Ronfart then he faw, 
And felt companion for the thoughtlefs youth. 
He bade the reft retire •, but FrcdVic ftaid 



The Firji of June. 1 79 

Lefl aught might prompt the hafty boy to rage, 

And Adriano's care be ill repaid 

By infolence and anger. To the youth 

The good man went. In proud difdain he turnM, 

And with harfli finger pluck'd the hazle's leaf. 

When Adriano thus : 

« Come, honeft youth, 

< Miflake us not for foes. Partake our cheer. 

* The fmart of folly felt, we afk no more. 

* Be wife in future. 'Tis a powerful hand 

* Protects the good 5 provoke its wrath no more. 

* Be happy with us, for my child forgives 
« The purposed injury, aflfur'd like me 

« Thy gen'rous nature in the hour of thought 
« Will feel contrition. Harbour no revenge ; 

< For Gilbert's anger juflly was provok'd. 

< Think, hadft thou feen a maid by thee belov'd, 

< Alone thus flceping, and a flranger came 

« With eagernefs approach'd, and feiz'd her hand 

< And caught her in his arms, tho' all he wifh'd 

* Was but a kifs, how had thy fury burn'd ? 

* Who could forbear and look in patience on, 

* To fee another's arm infold the fair 

« He deems his own ? Be fatisfied, nor think 

* Gilbert has done thee wrong. Provoke him not 



i8o Adriano ; or^ 

« To meet thee in the field, for fuch an adl 

« Were bafe in him and thee. 'Twere like the wretch 

* Who call'd his righteous brother to account 

* And flew him from his virtue. 'Twere in both 

* Strange violation of the law divine, 

« To follow cuflom which too often leads 

* To terrible miflake. The rich and great 

* Adopting folly, to the gen'ral eye 

* Make vice feem innocent. So here their ufe 

* Approves ftupendous error, and the mean, 
« Eager to imitate their words and dee.ds, 

< Adopt an a(5l that will not bear excufe. 

* Think as ye will of virtue, O ye great, 

* 'Tis your's to recommend the faith ye owa 

* By virtuous conduft. Ev'ry foul that failS| 

* By youf infeftious faj(hions led aflray, 

* Shall at ypwT hands his happiuefs require.' 

* Ay, fir,* faid Fred'ric, * and 'twere well the great 
« Had fomcthing of the honefl: Briton left, 

* And fcorn'd to ape the manners of the French - 

< I hate to fee fuch fenfelefs deference paid 

* To a defigning foe. hot the fpp^s cpat 

< Be made at Paris, let his loci^s be teaz'd 

* All day by the frizeur, and let him walk 
' With hat in hand on tipt-pe to the ball 

4 



The Firfl of June. xU 

^ All flattery and effence. Butterflies 

« Make Summer cheerful, and fuch powder'd moths 

« Serve for the wife to laugh at. But be fure 

« Our native virtue will inflrufl us beft 

^ How and for what to fight. Or if i/mt fail, 

* Appeal we to the Roman and the Greek. 

' Their fwords wf^re only drawn for public wrongs, 

* And never clafh'd but in the ftate's defence. 

* Ccefar was brave, and Cscfar had his foes *, 

* But when drew Caefar blood but in the field .'* 
« His private quarrels to the winds he tofl, 

' Forgot his injuries, and only flew 
^ Contending for his country.' 



« Truly faid; 
Cried Adriano, * and the man who thinks 
< Will act like C^far, for no public good 
« Can flow from private vengeance. ^Tis our part, 
f As Chriflians, to forget the wrongs we feel, 
« To pardon trefpafTes, our very foes 

* To love and cherifli, to do good to all, 

* Live peaceably, and not avenge ourfelves. 
^ And he who fpite of duty fights and frills, 
^ Runs on the fword and is his own afTafrm. 

' Who fheds another's blood, is guilty murder 5 

* No matter what the caufe, for hear the law. 



l82 Adriano ; or, 

" Who fliedo man's blood, by man his blood be fiud*, 

" E'en of the bed will I require man's life. 

" Who kills his neighbour, be it with defign, 

«* Whether they Arive or not, he furely dies. 

" Strike with a ilone, with iron, or v/ith woodf, 

«« Or only with the hand, if life be loft 

<« 'Tis death. The land defil'd by blood, is cleans'd 

«^ But by his blood who flied it." Think of this, 

' My hafty friend, and let an old man's words 

< Sink deep into thy heart. I had a fon 
« Who fell an early vi6lim to the fword, 

« (May god forgive him) and it grieves ray foul 

< To find the times fo thoughtlefs, they have Icfl 
« All fenfe of virtue. 'lis a grievous fight 

« * To fee brave youths of towardnefs and hope, 

< Sons of the morning, caffc away and lofl, 

' Short-liv'd and tranfient as the meadow flow'rs 

* Before the mower's fcythe ; to fee their blood 

< Ignobly fhed, whofe efForts might have won 
' A day of glory, and preferv'd a flate. 

* AVas Sidney fuch? was Wolf? was Manners? Thefe 

* Are Britain's boaft, the ncbleft ornaments 
' That grace the flory of our happy iile.' 



* Gen. ix. 5. f Esod. xxi. Numb, xxxv, 

J Bacou. 



the Firjl of June. i8, 

« An. I what,' laid Fred'nc, ' is the canfc aiTigu'd 
« To vindicate the duel ? Is it wrong, 
^ Intolerable wron<^ ? Then feek the 



aw, 



« Let public jtiiVic in her even fcalcs 

' Weigh the vaft injury, and fix the price 

<• Shall recompence th' afFront. The private eye 

f Sees double for itfelf, and to the foe 

« Allows no merit. Is the caufe ^o fmall 

* The law overlooks it ? Then a gen'rous mind 
' Should fcorn a recompence/ 

' The noble foul/ 
Said Adrlano, * like a Summer (ea 

* Is i\ot to be dillurb'd by ev'ry breath. 

^ Ic flands above weak infulr, like an Alp 
« That hides its iunny forehead in the ficy 

* And Icorns the pelting of the florm below. 

^ True courage feldom (loops to weigh a word. 
' The blow not ahvays moves it, and it flrike.-? 

* Then only, when the gen'ral good requires. 

* It feels that life ?aid all we have is due 

* To them we ferve, our C4)untry and our God. 
< \Vhen thefe command it dares oppofe all ill, 

^ But deems it neither honefl:, juH:, nor brave, 
« To combat danger, when they both forbid. 
^ It guards its ftation with a watchful eye, 

R 2 



x84 Adriano ; or^ 



* "vYilltng to a{% or patient to forbear 

« As duty gives the word. For well it knows, 
^ True magnammity is fo to live 
^ As never to infringe the hiws of God 
' Or break the public peace. Let the fhrili tongue 
t Of Defamation prate and her loud rout 
' Decree a coward's name to him who hears 
« The lie unmovMj and will not dare to fight 
« E'en for a blow. *fis fortitude to i't'^r. 
And he who cannot bear, but flakes his life 
To win the praifes of a herd like this, 
Who hardly know a virtue from a vice, 
And leaves ilie approbation of his God 

* His country and a confcience free from guilt, 

* What is he but a coward ? He prefers 

^ The poor applaufe of women and qf fools, 
« To inward peace and everlafting joy •, 

* Afraid to combat with the world's difgrace, 

* Which glveS' no torment to a wife man's heart, 

* Lads but a day* and with to-morrow's fun 

* Goes down and is forgot.' 



' O I abhor,' 
Said Fred'ric haftity, * the moody fliout 
« Of popular applaufe, which falls by chance 
^ On virtue or en vice, and not difcerns 



ne Firft of June* 185 

The better claim of the devout itnd good. 

For all the praifes of a world like this 

Who would be great ? Give me a thoufand tomes- 

Of fuch applaufe, FU tear *em piece by piece 

And trample all my honour in the dull:. 

Is there a man whofe judgment is exa(n ? 

To earn his praife Td climb the arduous top 

Of burning ^tna, were it thrice as high 

As yon bright moon, and one eternal fnow 

To the laft foot 5 I'd dive into the deep, 

I'd dig down to the centre of the earth, 

I'd take the eagle's wings and mount the (kies 

And follow virtue to her feat in heaven/ 

« Ay, gen'rous youth,' fald Adriano pleas'd, 
« 'Tis noble to deferve the wife man's praife. 
' Such is the man of honour. Only he 
« Is great and hon'rable, who fears the breach 
^ Of laws divine or human, and foregoes 
« E'en reputation rather than infringe 
< The Chrillian's duty. 'Tis the devil's art 
^ To varniih folly, and give vice a malk 
^ To make her look like virtue. Thus to fight^, 
* To murder aiid be murder'd, tho' the caufe 
« Would hardly juftify a moment's wrath,. 
5 Is honour, glorious honour^ Vulgar eyes. 



iS6 jtdrlano ; or^ 

* Miftake the femblance, and the fpeclons vice 
« PafTes for flerling virtue. But take heed, 

* Ingenuous youth, and let th' impoftor pafs. 
^ Scorn the applaufe of a mifguided mob, 

* Defplfe their cenfures. Can that ear be judge 

* Of the mufician's merit, v/hofe bafe fenfe 

* Can fcarce prefer immortal Handel's notes 

* To the harfh brayiogs of a pefter'd afs ? 

* Can that eye judge of beauty and defert, 

* Which fcarce diflinguiihes the fign-pofl daub- 

* From tbe great painter, whofe ingenious hand 
' Touches the canvafs v\Ai\\ a poet's fire ? 

* Then why permit them to prefcribe the bounds 
^ Of courage and of honour ? Be aiTur'd 

* The joint applaufe 6f twenty million fuch 

* Confers no dignity. 'Tis nobler far 

' To bear the lafh of flander, and be M'd 

* Scoundrel and coward with a mind at eafe, 
■* Sure to be honoured by the great above • 

* Tho' iTighted by the little here. Be firfl:, 

< Ye men of place and f afhion, on v/hofe deeds 

* The vulgar eye for ever is intent 

^ Their very garments modeling from you, 

* Be firft to recommend a fleady mind. 
Serene and patient, by no wrongs provok'd. 

* To thirii for blood. An ornament it is 



The Fir ft of June, 187 

< Shall give 5^ou greatnefs In an angel's eyes, 

£ Shall raife you all to thrones no power can fhake 

* For ever honour'd and for ever iovM.' 

He faid, and fcarce had ended, when the found 
Of footfteps nunbly pacing reach'd his ear. 
The hazles ruflled, and with cheerful fmile 
Sophia from the fliade emerg'd. The moon 
Shone full upon her, and her mellow beams 
Improv'd a countenance ferene as her's. 
She feem'd an angel flepping from the clouds 
With happinefs for man : And why ! fhe faid, 

* Why do you loiter here ? O we have long'd, 

« Have long'd to fee you. We have danc'd an age^ 

* And wifli'd for you to help. Come, Sir, and fee 

< How gracefully Maria leads the dance. 

* She's life itfelf. I never faw a foot 

^ So nimble and fo eloquent. It fpeaks, 

* And the fweet whifp'ring poetry it makes 

« Shames the mufician. Fred'ric come, be quick 
^ For Anna waits, and waits with patience yet/ 

^ Stay but a moment !' Adriano cried, 
•« For here is one it grieves me to difmifs.' 

* O let him join us !' fliid the cheerful maldj 
« Maria charg'd me to forgive him. She 



J 88 Adriano ^ or^ 

« Can bear no malice. And do you forgive;,. 
' I know you to be good, and I engage 
« To be his partner in the dance.' 

She faid. 
The good man folemnly forgave. The youth 
Felt true compun6lion, and his fault excus'd 
With fname and tears. Then Fred'ric took his hand. 
In tranfport honie they went, and Ronfart drefsM, 
And Adriano led him to the room. 
Much (liame he felt, but the good man was kind 
And interceded, and they all forgave. 
Gilbert fhook hands, and ev'ry maid was pleas'd, 
Sophia pitied her embarrafb'd fwain, 
An.d fwept her fingers o'er the loud guitar 
Provoking to the dance. The liddler hcvvr'd. 
And tun'd his firings and *gan a lively air. 
Then Gilbert feiz'd again Maria's hand 
And led her to the top ; then Fred'ric ran, 
And Anna bounded to receive his hand •, 
Good Adriano reded, Ronfart rofe, 
And kind Sophia bcckon'd with a fmile. 
So merrily they danc'd one fpeedy hour 
Ere the lafr meal began. At length they ceas'd. 
Then much they chatted and as much they fang^ 
Each by his partner feated. To delight 
Was ev'ry fair one's wifh, and ev'ry youth's. 



The Fir ft of June. 189 

And all were pleas'd. E*en Adriano's eye 
Sparided v;ith honell: joy, tho' feventy years 
Had Ibmewbat dim'd its luilre , and his cheek 
»-aew'd yet Ibme traces of the youthfal blufli, 
Warm'd by the hearty laugh. 

At length the clock 
Sounded the midnight hour, and up they rofe. 
Each to his home retreats, engag'd to rife 
And meet his charmer by the morning daWn 
At Adriano's door. To the lone cot. 
Never fo long deferted, Gilbert hades, 
In either hand a fifler. To the inn 
(If fjch the village hovel may be call'd. 
Where the high-lifted bufh, well under f bod, 
Alone proclaims ' Good entertainment here 
^ For man and horfe') fpeeds Fred'rlc and his friend 
With high commliPions charg'd. To her own room 
With bleffmgs loaded by her joyous fire 
And pure afFefiiion's thrice-repeated kifs^ 
Withdrew Maria, happy as a cherub* 



J90 Adriano ; or^ 



H 



.S flept in peace, but fcarce one fliort-UvM hoar 
Her watchful eye-lids clos'd. Exceliive joy 
Burti'd on her cheek and bounded In her heart. 
Nor car'd {he much for Heep, while certain biift 
Gave eafe to vigilance, but envious deep 
Cheated her fancy with a thouflmd dreams 
Of Gilbert ftruggUng with the furious waves. 
And afldng life in vain. At length day rofe 
Wak'd by the lark, and from her bed ihe fprung. 
The early breakfaft (he prepared, heifelf 
AttirM, and wak'd her father. Scarce had he 
Forfook his chamber, when the hafly rap 
Announc'd young Gilbert and his fillers. Joy 
Maria's cheek fuifus'd and with glad heart 
Her friends fhe welcomed, chieliy thee, fend youth^ 
For fix long hours (O what an age in love) 
Not feen or heard. 

And now the founding hoofs 
Of deeds quick-pacing echo through the wood. 
The frequent lafli refounds, and the brifk wheel 



The Tirjl of June. 19 

Runs lightly clatt'ring o'er the velvet fward. 
Soon to the door came Fred'ric and his friend. 
Each in his chaife with looks of gladnefs fat. 
Ondthorfe drove each, another led behind. 
They hail their happy friends, and now defcend, 
And all are feated at the cheerful board. 

Not long they fat, impatient to ^.e gone. 
The door is failen'd, Adriano mounts. 
And Gilbert at his right-hand holds the whip j 
Maria fits between. His Anna's arm 
Fred'ric fupports, and lifts her to her feat, 
Then fellows after. Ronfatt's v/iiling hand 
Sophia's foot fiiilains, and to her throne 
Upon the prancing fteed (he neatly fprings 
Light as the climbing vapour. Proud is he 
To be fo mounted, and his filver bit 
Haughtily champs, and fhakes his flowing mane, 
And paws the earth. Then Ronfart flrode his fleed, 
Young Gilbert's whip the founding fignal gave, 
And all departed. One defirous look 
Back on the lonely cot Maria caf!:, 
And fhed a tear at parting. Due regret 
Good Adriano felt, and his moid eye 
And fault'ring tongue confefs'd the fv/elilng heart 
Unwillingly betray'd. Ah ! they are gone. 



igi Adriano ; or^ 

Defer ted roof, O how fliall I forfake 
Thee the befl ornament my fong can boafl, 
Parent of happ'mefs that feldom fail'd, 
Source of fweet peace that never ceas'd and fled 
But to return with tranfport. Who fhall lead 
The vine's luxuriant branch and purple fruit 
About thy cafements now ? Who fhall regard 
The creeping ivy round thy chimney wound, 
And o'er thy thatch in dark profufion fpread ? 
Who fliall invite the oak's umbrageous arm ? 
Who fliall frequent the beech, and on the bench 
Under his wholefome fliade fweet leflures read, 
To guide his offspring in the ways of truth ? 
Who fhall improve thy bow'r, and turn thy foil. 
Who prune thy fruit-trees, and prote6l thy flow'rs, 
Who weed the gravel at thy door ? All this 
Will I— O undiflurb'd retreat, thy flill. 
Thy fecret pleafures fliall be all I afk. 
Shut out for ever from the noife of men. 

But thou art dumb — thy books, thy walks, thy 
Have no fweet voice to captivate my ear. [views, 
Thy muflc does not fpeak. I fmile indeed 
And fee thee fmile again, but all thy founds 
Are but the feeble echoes of my own. 
My ear is hungry and my eye athirfl 



The Firjl of "June, 193 

For her whom Adam, earth's primeval lord, 
Found wanting never fecn, and without whom 
E'en Paradife was painful. Let me feafl 
On the fvv'eet tones of melody and fenfe 
In foft perfuafion dropping from the tongue 
Of lovely woman ; let me drink her fmiles 
The beverage of love, and from her eye 
See my own joy reflefled and thence doubled. 
Without her all thy charms, forlliken cot. 
Court me in vain. Adieu then, humble roof, 
Not to be fought fmce not to be enjoy'd 
Alone. A little longer with the world 
I mix ; a little longer hear the (hout 
Of clam'rous, factious, difcontented man j 
A little longer bear the beldam's frown. 
The hifs of ilander, and the fneer of pride. 
Then diall thy door receive me, never more 
To quit thy peaceful (hadows, till kind Heav'n, 
With her the fole fweet partner of my joys, 
Tranfplant me (of indulgence not defer v'd) 
Into a Y/orld v/here charity abounds. 
And love fhall live for ever and voc ever. 

So fang the poet, and with fpeedy flep 
Went forward to the world. He fought the church, 
And faw Maria ilTue from the porch 
s 



3 94 Aariano ; or^ 

la tranfport led by (filbert. Anna next 
Came fmiiing forth, to Frederic wedded. Then 
Cheerful iho' fingle and the only maid 
YfiihoiU a mate, Sophia trip'd along. 
The good man followed with a face of joy, 
And Ronilirt. Show'rs of rofes ilrew'd the path, 
And fprigs of myrtle, lavender, and bay. 
The chaifes both are fili'd, the Heeds re-mouoted, 
And thro' the village ftreet I faw them pafs, 
While ev'ry door and ev'ry window throng'd, 
And ev'ry countenance was full of mirth. 
And merrily the belk rang round. And I 
Stood thrilling as they went:, for in my foul 
I love the fight of happinefs enjoy'd : 
"Would it were lafrhig, and not quickly pad 
Short as the tranfports of a wedding-day. 

Nor Aood I long, for at the wedding feafl 
I knev/ this face was welcome, and I went. 
And I beheld young^Ronfirt as he rode 
And chatted with Sophia. I beheld 
His bafliful look and unafFe61:ed tears 
When warm v»^lth love he loiter'd far behind, 
Bewail'd his folly, and in humble tone 
Befought the fair one, if her gen'rous heart 
Could e'er forget the wickednefs he thought, 



The Fir ft of June, 195 

Could love a ftranger of his deeds afliam'd, 
She would regard his unabating iighs 
And with her hand reward him. I beheld 
Sophia's cheek with ardent bluflies fpread. 
I heard her tell him of a man fhe lov'd, 
And he had long lov'd her, and yefler-night 
The letter Frcd'ric brought was penn'd by him. 
And he was conitant flill. Then Ronfart bow'd. 
And wav'd his claim, and to his fate refign'd. 

To Gilbert's houfe they came, and I was there, 
i\nd fhook thy hand, Sophia, and thy lips 
Kifs'd with a lover's warmth. I faw the tear 
Run trickling from thy eye. I felt thy hand 
In extacy prefs mine. I faw thy tongue. 
Eager to tell me of an age of news, ^ 

Could utter nothing, and was bound like mine 
In chains of joy and undlflembled love. 
I fat befide thee at the feaft. I ferv'd, 
I cheer'd thee and was cheer'd. I HU'd thy glafs. 
I pledg'd thy toafl:. 1 reach'd thee fruit. I dranlo 
And with thee fang. I led thee to the walk, 
I led thee home, I led thee to the dance. 
Time had no durance \ with a prater's tongue 
He counted his ihort hours, and fpeedy Night 
Gallop'd her courfers to conclude the day. 
s 2 



ig6 Adriano ; &f<r. 

Surely the time (hall come, when once agam 
Thou (halt adorn the feaH, and lead the dance, 
Thyfelf the wedded fair. Cords of reftraint 
Shall ceafe to bind me, and the lonely cot 
Yield all ks pleafures to thy lip and mine. 



^ 



sj-f'ajiaijEsj-KiBr^ 



CONTENTS. 



^J^JRS OF AFFECTION Page 


■aos 


TheBOU^ET 


249 


I. Verfi's occafioncd by an Accident 


ibid. 


II. The Authors Addirfs to his Father 


250 


III. Verfes to Amanda - - » 


251 


IV. Canzonet I. - - . 


252 


V. 27v Midnight Invocation 


253 


VI. 71? .7 Lady, ivith a Floiuer 


256 


VII. Canzonet II 


257 


VIII. iLfw^j- infertedin a Pocket^Book- 


258 


IX. Addrefs to the Moon - - - 


259 


X. C^;7Z^;/.''/ III. - - - 


261 


XI. Addrefs to Happinefs - - - 


262 


XII. Ca?izonet IV. - - 


264 


XIII. Second Addrefs to the Moon 


265 


XIV. 51? a Lady^ in a Thunderflorm 


268 


XV. Addrefs to Criticifm 


269 



TEARS OF AFFECTION, 



i IS done, 'tis done, the bitter hour is pad, 
And Ifiibel my treafure, my delight, 
Is numbered with the dead. I fee the hearfe 
With fable plumes and fullen-footed ileeds 
The village church approach. I fee the corfe, 
From its dark cell releas'd, by many a hand 
Uplifted heavily. I hear the bell 
Toll to the flow and melancholy flep 
Of mute procciTion, the white prieil before. 
The mourners following, and in the midii. 
Thee my delight, my pleafure, and my hope. 
Under the flowing pail. I fee my love 
Borne thro* the portal of her native church 
Thence never to return. I hear a voice 
Confign her to oblivion, daft to dull;, 
Afhes to allies. 



2o6 Tears of Affedion. 

Everla fling God, 
Author of life, and fovereigii of death. 
Why hafl- thou flript me of this lovely gem, 
The gli^ry of my bofom ? Was my tongue 
Unwilling to intreat thee ? V7as my knee 
Tardy to kneel ? or did my anxious heart 
Aflc without fervour for the life it fought ? 
Myflerious Being, with unceafing prayer 
Have I thy throne approached, befeeching health 
For this my deareft bl elTing. With large tears 
Have I thy grace intreated day and night, 
Reque fling rather pain and poverty 
Than this fo bitter lofs. Yet mil in vain 
Have I befought thee, and thy will be done. 
I know there is not righteoufnefs in man, 
And of the blefTmgs which I yet enjoy 
I nothing merit. Loud as I complain'd. 
Devoutly as I pray'd, thine ear was fhut 
Without injuflice j and the pains I feel 
Are the due wages of my mean defert. 

Eternal God, mufi: I no more enjoy 
The genial comforts which thy liberal hand 
Once ftied about me ? Mafl yon lonely cot 
Know me no more ? yon wood-befprinkled vale 
Echo no longer to my carelefs fong ? 

2 



Tears of Affe6lion, 207 

No 1 my fweet treafure Ifabel is gone, 
And in yon rural manfion lives no more 
The village Curate. To fome Granger's eye 
Muft it unfold its bloffomsj the fweet buds 
Which art has taught its windows to furround. 
To mine they give no pleafure, nor to me 
Smiles, as it did, the valley or the brook. 
The wood, the coppice, the paternal oak. 
Or village fteeple ftation'd on the hill. 
No ! my fweet treafure Ifabel is gone. 
Some meffenger of God my door has pafl 
From earth returning, faw the beauteous flower, 
Tranfported gathered it, and in his hand 
Bore it to Heav'n rejoicing. Lo ! my tears ! 
They flow for Ifabel, whom thefe my eyes 
When firfl: they wak'd to reafon and to fenfe. 
Found a poor friendlefs infant at my flde 
In the fame cradel fleeping. With a fmile 
And arms outftretch'd it pleaded for my love. 
And won affection which no time could kill. 
No accident abate. Our fouls were one, 
One were our hopes, our pleafures, and our pains. 
Wept Ifabel ? into her wounded heart 
Sweet confolation her companion pour'd. 
Droop'd with difl:emper her uhealthy mate 
She at his fide fat weeping, footh'd his pain 
T 



2o8 I'ears of Affedion. 

With gentle eye-drops and the tender tone 
Of fympathy maternal, nor forbore 
Till rofy welfare to his cheek return'd. 

Then fported they together, from the world 
Long time remote, where yon enormous downs 
Shoulder the eaftern moon. The mountain's fide 
They fcale together, on his airy brow 
Together loiter'd, and together bowPd 
The bounding flint into the vale below. 
Together flood they trembling on the cliff 
To view the wide unlimited expanfe 
Of ocean green beneath, what time the florm 
His azure realm had troubled, and at large 
The tempefl-loving porpoife thro' his waves 
Flounder'd unheeding. On the pebbly beach 
With painful flep they travell'd fide by fide. 
Shrunk at the thundering downfall of the furge, 
And chas'd the flying foam. Never apart 
Till Education at her feafon came, 
Sever'd their hands, and bade the boy averfe 
To learning's diftant fane her fleps attend. 

Yet ftill tow'rd Ifabel's belov'd retreat 
A longing eye he cafl, her parting tears 
Remember'd, her engaging fmile, her look 



Tears of Affe&ion, 2cg 

Of meek afre(5tionj her impa/Tion'd kifs. 

Oft on the fpotlefs flieet with breathing pen 

He pour'd the tender fentiment he felt. 

•She the warm line perus'd, and dwelt with pride 

On ev'ry glowing period. 

So increas'd 
Love not to be fnbdued, and like the moon 
To ampler plenitude and fweeter day- 
Proceeded hourly ; but not like the moon 
Increas'd to wane, augmented but to changc= 
No, my fweet Ifabel, thy faithful love 
Knew no decline j from day to day it grew. 
From year to year, an amaranthine flower 
Unchangeable. "With exquiiite delight 
She welcomed home the countenance fiie lov'd. 
What time Vacation 'gan his airy dance 
And left Tuition nodding )'er his books 
In Academus' fhades. With fliow'r of joy 
Welcom*d the day when Education's claims 
Drew to a period, and tlie youth was her's 
Never to leave her more. 

Then to the cot 
Not unaccompanied by thofe they lov'd 
Contented they withdrew. Then life began, 
And fweetly pad it by their happy door, 
T z 



210 Tears of Affection, 

While they and health and innocence within 

Sat at the board together. There they dwelt, 

And often r ofe in the fweet morn of May 

To watch the flow and timorous return 

Of renovated Spring. With eye well-pleafed 

They iiiw the fun induflrious from his couch 

Still on the morrow with an earlier fmile 

His beauteous dawn difpenfe. With joyful heart 

Noted the progrefs of the gradual vale 

Slowly revivingj faw the op'ning bud 

Spread its incautious blofTom to the breeze. 

The tender leaf for its proteflion fpring, 

And gloried to behold the lonely oak 

In tardy foliage cloth'd. Yes, day by day 

Twas thy fupreme and innocent delight 

With me, my Ifabel, the plant and flower. 

The fhrub and the efpaiier, the high wood. 

The hedge-row, field, and orchard to obferve. 

Each in its turn with vegetative life 

Freely indued, and as its feafon came 

Clad in peculiar honours. With thy eye 

Has mine enchanted round the garden flray'd, 

And oft have I beheld thee with a fmii e 

Thy families prote6ling, raifing feme, 

Some wedding to the marriageable flem, 

And feme with dew-drops cheering. 



Tears of AffeSlion, 2 1 1 

Ah ! no more 
Muft thy fweet converfc in the garden fliade 
My lift'ning ear engage. Thou fhalt no m(^c 
Hear me difcourfe of wifdom freely fhed 
On ev'ry work below, and to the fight 
Of him who fearches eafy to be feen. 
Our eyes no more upon the bloom of fpring 
Shall dwell together. Never fhall I hear 
Thy tongue again the concert of the grove 
Applaud, and mark at thy requeft the flrain 
Of many a warbler fmging to his mate. 
The bird of morn * that on the fun beam floats^ 
What time he darts it from the deep aflant 
And fmites unfeen the flecker'd roof of Heav'n, 
Shall no more wake thee with his early fong 
In wild divifion warbled. Nor again 
Her folo anthem fhall the bird of night f 
Heard with attention, to the watchful ear 
In the flill coppice vary. Eve and morn 
Participated pleafure fhall no more 
To us diftribute. With thy arm in mine 
I fhall no more the fober walk enjoy 
In the flill ev'ning vale, what time the rook 
With whifp'ring wing brufhes the midway air 

* The Lark. t The Nightingale, 



2 1 2 Tears of Affcillon, 

To the high wood impatient to return. 
We fliali no more yon family of oaks 
Which crowds the bottom of the gloomy vale 
Vifit together, when the fhades of night 
Double the horrors of their mingled boughs. 
We fliall not liften to the free complaint 
Of the day-dreading partridge, oft difpers'd 
And often pitied by thy tongue and mine. 
We fhall not hear with fympathetic heart 
The diflant bell, whofe deep and equal tone 
Tolls to the grave fome relative deceased, 
Some child, fome parent, or fome fpoufe belov'd. 
And dear to them who follow, as ourfelves 
Were precious to each other. 

No ! dear girl, 
Thy own fad knell has toll'd. My wounded heart 
Has yearn'd at thy deceafe, and tho' my foot 
Refus'd to follow to the yawning grave 
Thy cold remains, my overflowing eye 
Has wept thee plenteoufly. It weeps thee flill. 
And daily, while I may, the filent fpot 
Where thy poor reliques reft, with fv/elling heart 
Will I revifit. Daily by thy grave 
Will I the luxury of grief profufe 
Indulge, and dwell a flatue on the fpot 



Tears of Affedm. 2 1 3 

Where the dark vault its flony jaws has clos'd 
On Ifabel my treafure, and ere long 
Shall clofe on me. The folitary walls 
Which guard thy corfe, fhall my domeflic Mufe 
With unaffected eulogy infcribe, 
And place her breathing tablet o'er thy bones 
With the deep figh of exquifite regret. 
My tongue fhall oft report thee, and my feet 
Rejoice to be detain'd, while at thy fide 
I tell the moving tale of thy defert. 
Here lleeps my Ifabel, the brightefl gem 
Heav'n in my crown had plac'"d, my bofom-ftar. 
The fweet companion of my lonely hours, 
Whofe prefence made a moment of a day, 
Whofe abfence makes a century of an hour. 
With me (he trip'd upon the airy down. 
With me file loiter'd in the funny vale ; 
With me applauded nature, ever fair 
Revolve in what viciffitude fhe will. 
In ev'ry feafon of the beauteous year 
Her eye was open, and with ftudious love 
Read the divine Creator in his works. 
Chiefly in thee, fweet Spring, when ev^ry nook 
Some latent beauty to her wakeful fearch 
Prefented, fome fweet flow'r, fome virtual plant. 
In ev'ry native of the hill and vale 



214 Tears of Affection , 

She found attra(5tion, and where beauty faiPd 

Applauded odor or commended ufe. 

So was the wild geranium to her breaft, . 

However fimple and however plain, 

A welcome ornament j germander fo 

With his blue flow'r on ev'ry bank difpers*d 

No gueft impertinent. The humble vetch 

Her pofy grac'd, and the pale rofe of prime. 

The orchis elegant, with many a tier 

Of fly-refembling bloflbms each o'er each 

Pagoda-like difpos'd. With tender fenfe 

The pimpernel, which to the humid morn 

Ere yet the fhower-fhedding cloud appears 

Its bofom clofes and prefages wet. 

The tanfey with its bloom of gold, and leaf 

Verdant above, with filver linM beneath. 

The lujula which often on the bank 

Dwells by the wood-land flrawberry, and prefents 

A leaf not lefs delicious than his fruit, 

A flow'r fuperior. 

Such and thoufands more 
Leifurely gather'd have thy hand and bread 
Dear Ifabel adorned, while I well-pleas'd 
Have mark'd thy fludious fearch, and unperceiv'd 
Drawn thee thus loit'ring in unutter'd fong \ 



Tears of Jffe^fic-. 1 1 5 

Or idly wound the clafping eglantine 
About thy crown, or filled thy hair will flow'rs 
Of the fweet woodbine, whofe maternal branch 
Suckles the bee with honey and the moth. 
Yes, gentle maid, thy fleps have I purfued 
In fearch of fammer beauties, and Gbferv'd 
Myriads that wakM me to delight and joy. 
But none {o fair, fo lovely as thyfclf. 
With thee have I admir'd the jQiady grove. 
The funny champaign, the extenfive weald 
Scattered with fleeples, mefluages, and mills. 
And dwelt on many a pleafurable fpot 
Of interfe<5led pafture, with its ftack. 
Cottage and lodge, few flieep and grazing cow 
Deeming content and happinefs were there. 
"With thee have I applauded the deep vale, 
Its verdure mellowing as it ftole away, 
To either margin of a winding flream 
Prefenting fainter fliadows, fofter woods j 
With thee beheld with fmile afFeftionate 
Our native downs remote, hill behind hill, 
Gigantic family, fome near, fome far, 
With-drawing till their faint expiring !ops 
Were almofl: loft and melted into air. 
With thee have I delighted ftill to rove 
At morn, at eve, in twilight and at noon. 



2 1 6 Tears of AffeBion, 

Long as fweet Summer lafted. Chiefly then 
When tufts of primrofe fmil'd upon the bank, 
Gracing the verge of fome tranflucent flream 
Or glafly lake, whofe mirror their foft flow'rs 
Reflecfted fofter to the loit'rer's eye. 
Or when the flrawberry with ruddy cheek 
Provok'd the finger to be plucking flill. 
When fragrant honey-fuckle his fweet flow'r 
Along the hedge-row fcatter'd, and the breeze 
Of evening freely his perfume difpens'd ; 
When blofTom'd clover, or the martial bean, 
The hay-rick newly built, or bitter hop 
Emitting from the oaft a grateful fleam, 
Filled all the vale with odors. Arm in arm 
Have we the dews of evening often met. 
And the pale ray of the September moon. 
What time afcending with difcolour'd cheek 
She peer'd above the cloud or highland wood; 
And filently improving as (he rofe 
Hung o'er the faded landfcape full of light ; 
A glorious lamp to cheer a boundlefs hall 
Floating acrofs the living dome of Heav'n 
Sufpended upon nothing. Arm in arm 
Have we the fun of morning on the brov/ 
Yet unapparent welcomed, and his foft 
Emergent glory like the bee enjoy 'd 



Tears of Affe6lion. 2ij^ 

Roving from bank to bank, from hill to hill. 
Along the meadow now, or thro' the field 
Of ftieaves eredt, or barley by the fcythe 
In frequent lines difpos'd, or fertile oat. 
Now by the flream, to hear the liquid lapfe 
Of Rother gliding o'er fome pebbly fhoal. 
Or with hoarfe tumult thro' the foamy dam 
And idle mill-wheel falling. Homeward now 
Thro' many a garden which the fofler'd hop 
Shades with his branch prolific, yet untouched. 
Now to fome quarter where his honours fall. 
Thro' many a family who pluck his flow'rs 
And fill the bin with gold, there to delay 
And haply fome affift the pole to ftrip, 
Beftowing freely a few moment's toil 
To mark how induftry her tafk purfues. 
With finger never weary, finging ftill. 
Now to the village whofe afpiring church 
High on a hillock in the valley Hands, 
And fmiles with glory in the rifing fun 
As if it lov'd the profpe<5l it adorns. 
How fweet the pleafure then, in fome lone nooic 
Under a precipice, or lofty wood 
To paufe and liflen, while the village bells, 
Bydifiance mellow'd, their melodious toneg 
Each after other to the feeding ear 



3 1 8 Tears of Affedion. 

Softly perfuafive utter'd -, faintly heard 

Sometimes, and fcarce more audible, remote. 

Than the mellifluous 0(5lave, gently touch'd 

By fome impaffionM fongflrefs to relieve 

Her foul-fubduing fong ; fometimes more bold, 

And fweet harmonious diapafon fwell 

Of gradual increafe, by the breeze at length 

In loud confufion huddled on the ear, 

Till echo chid them and they died again. 



x\.H me ! fuch pleafures Ihall be mine no morfct 
My lov'd companion, whofe endearing fmile 
And fenfible remark made all things fweet. 
Attends my paths no more. My gentle friend 
Is fnatched away to heav'n. Content is gone, 
And forrow faddens every flep I tread. 
Dear fpirit, come again. In fome lone hour. 
While thus I fit in melancholy thought. 
With eyes intent upon the quiv'ring flame 
That plays along the hearth, and fhed my tears 
Without reluctance, open wide the door. 
Steal to my fide unfeen, and with a kifs 
4 



Tears of AffeBion, 219 

A5 often "wont my reverie difperfe. 
Recall me with a fmile from the dark gloom 
Of woe and difcontent, and once again 
Bring to my fide fvveet peace ; for (he is fled. 
And has been long departed. When difeafe 
Firft preyM on thee, my treafure, ilie Vv'ithdrew 
And wander'd God knows v/hither. Cruel maid, 
She left me tho' I lov'd her, and is gone 
With thofe to linger who (hall prize her lefs. 
Then come again, dear fpirit, come again, 
And let thy fmile exhilarate a foul 
Which caanot live and be content alone. 
I will efteem thee more and chide thee lefs, 
And nothing utter which thy heart fhall wound^ 
Tho' death divide us never. Want of eafe 
And frequent fenfe of agony conceard, 
Has fometimes made me in the wayward hour. 
E'en theC) thou blameiefs innocent, reprove ; 
And thou hall wept to eafe an aching heart 
Which almoft burfl at my undue rebuke. 
Return again, fweet fpirit. Let me weep, 
And make atonement for the v/rong I own. 
Thou wilt not blame m.e. Guilty as I am 
Forgivenefs fhall be mine. Wert thou my judge 
My debt of trefpafs would be fmall indeed. 
u 



j:26 Tears of AffeBloiu 

Come, let me hold thee with a father's lore, 
And yield thee benefits thrice more in weight 
Than father ever on his child beilow'd. 
Thou art my daughter. When my weeping Mufe 
The filial Marg'ret drew, fhe copied thee. 
Nor can I deem thee to the brilliant gem 
Of More infex-lor, tho' with jaflice fliPd 
* The grace of Britain. Piety was thine, 
As piety was her's. Good humour, love, 
Compailion, pleafantry and foft addrefs, 
Exterior fymbols of a mind within 
Gentle, humane, and friendly, grac'd you both. 
Both from attentive childhood's earlieft hour 
Were by the Mufes nurtur'd. Margaret's eye 
Delighted ever on the page to dwell 
Of fweet inri:ru<5lioa, and no leifure hour 
Neglecled Ifabel and not improv'd j 
Purfuing IHU the multifarious tale 
Of general Itory, of the world at large 
Difcourfing, ancient continent and new. 
Of kingdoms born and mighty ftates deceas'd, 
Of wars and vi'ctories and routed hofrs. 
And millions flain, of whom and of their deeds 
But in the claiTic page no trace exifls. 
* Eritannije decus.— Erafm. 



Tears of Affect ion. 221 

Nov/ to the changes of her native ilia ' 
StrltSlly attentive, from its earlieu birth 
The (growth of paw'r ilie trnc'd, and gradual rife 
Of comrDerce feeble in its firfl: efiay, 
Spreading another and another fail, 
Till ocean fwarm'd with ventures, till excefs 
Came to the fhores, till luxury began, 
And exqulfite refinement wond'rous nice 
Allow'd no blemirh in the work fne fought. 
The birth of learning then, and childifli march 
Of icience yet an infant led by firings 
She mark'd, and thro' fucceiTive ages watch'd 
The puny firipling till he grew to man. 
With fliges thus which every age adorn'd, 
Philofophers and fcholars, flie ere long 
Had intimate acquaintance, and the talc 
Of anecdote peculiar ftill purfued 
And gloried to remember. Ye whofe pens 
la moral lefTon have your country taught, 
Say whicii of you (he knew not ? fludious ever 
Of 3^our inftru6llve and amufing line, 
Whether it raarch'd in fDlemn flate along, 
Or wantoned idly to arrefr the eye 
And lead the flumb*ring judgment unawares 
To fenfe of duty. Which of you, ye bards, 
Had file not follov/*d thro' your airy flights I 

u % 



22 2 Tears of Affection*. 

Whether aloft in Epic fong fablime 

And bold Pindaric fbaring, or beneath 

Fluttering in humble verf^^^ or Readier fong 

V.^arbling uifpended la the midway Heav'n* 

From the wild terrace of the Brithli muR: 

She ev'ry flow'r had gatherM, and difpos'd 

111 cabinet fecure her pofied fweets, 

The weed rejecting ever. Witnefs thefe - 

So neatly pen'd, fo carefully preferv'd. 

Volumes of beautyj for the leifure eye 

And faithlefs memory copied. Profpers here 

The punieft blofTom of the claiTic mufe, 

Plere flourifnes the faircil. Chiefly thine 

Thou bard of nature Shakefpear. Milton thine^ 

Thine Dryden, from a mound of rubbifti cull'd. 

Yet not inferior to the beft that blow. 

Thine Spenfer, to the antiquarian eye 

Soberly pleafing. Butler thine, replete 

"With Icarnlngj frnfe, end wit. Rofcommon thine. 

Judicious, elegant, and Otway thine 

Applauded and reprov'd. Thine Pope, as gems 

Not fcldom luftrous, fometimes tinfel-rayed. 

Thine gentle Pomfret, not to be defpis'd. 

And nebulous Blackmore thine. Thine charming 

Politefl grace of the dramatic page, [Rowe^ 

And thine poetic Prior. Parnel thine. 



Tears of Affecflon, 223 

To me of lovely fragrance. ThomfonL thlae, 
And thine more mufical, defcriptive leis, 
Young, in whofe tedious and protra(5ted fong 
Still gleams and iVill expires the cloudy day 
Of genuine Poetry. Thine too are there, 
Impetuous Akenfide, as thunder flrong, 
Thine awful, pleafing, perfecuted Gray. 
Thine lovelorn Littleton, and ShenAone thine 
An artificial nofegay made of fhells. 
And thine not leaft efteem^d, tho' lateft nam'd, 
Ingenious Cow per. From thy various Mufe, 
Sweet bard, fhe frequent entertainment fought, 
Nor long could feek in vain. Upon thy page 
Her eye was feedmg, when invidious death 
Her bofom wounded with his poifon'd fhaft. 
And foon flie thought thy labour to repay 
With fome fair pledge of honour and eftcem 
By her own art accompliih'd. Time to come 
Far as the ken of certainty may reach 
She to difpiay had purposed, and thine ear 
With fweet prophetic narrative to feed 
As long as hunger would. For fhe had fkiil 
The m )on from her high orbit to decoy 
And hold her fpeil-bound in the midO of Heav'o 
While fhe propounded queftion, at what hour; 
The phafy wand'rer with decreafing orb 



224 Tears of Affedion, 

Her courfe anomalous fulfill'd unfeen. 

Or at what hour with half replealfh'd horn 

She grac'd the brow of eve, or when replete 

Rofe in full glory in the belt of night. 

Then queflion fprung, if in her annual courfe 

Oft times the world embracing, thro' the band 

Which marks the fancied circuit of the fun 

At her renewal or her full-fac'd hour 

She pafs'd. Affirmative reply with flyle 

Corre(ft was noted, and from thence arofe 

Examcn nice, how near or how remote 

The node (lie fail'd to or the node flie left ; 

And whether as Tae jouraey'd, void or filPd, 

She touch'd the diflant fliadow of the earth, 

Or fhadow'd earth herfelf. Earth's ihadow then 

Was feebly piftur'd, and the point exa6t 

By computation noted, where the orb 

Of night fir if imote it, and her borrow'd beam 

SlowJy fubmitted, till her fade^i cheek 

Was all with wan deliquium ficklied o'er. 

Her central courfe athwart the (liade flie crofs'd 

And every moment of her pallid march 

Were rcprefented then, till her thick veil 

Earth drew afide, imputient of delay 

And the fweet lofs (he mouru'd. Then glow'd anew 

The fiber crefceat with improving horn^ 



Tears of Affedion, 225 

And the fair orb thro' all her changes pafl 
Of wane and increafe in a fummer's eve. 
The moon thus portrayed in her languid hour, 
Queftion arofe what time her raylefs orb 
The funbeam intercepted, and how large 
The portion fever'd from his ardent globe 
By her intruding difc ; at what bright hour 
She 'gan invade him, and her central path 
Whether it fmotc his axis in the midfl 
Total eciipfe inducing, or a ring 
Of glory fparing on his utmoft fkirt. 

Such arduous queries would the fair one aik 
And reafon anfwer'd, on her fpotlefs blank 
The luminaries painting, each in turn 
Involved in partial or in total gloom ; 
The one long llruggling with her adverfe hour^ 
The other foon viflorious. Nor alone 
Computed (lie the labours of the moon 
Or parent fun, as their expiring balls 
The pafTant year aiarm'd, or years to come 
Clouded with idle terrors yet unborn. 
Into the dark abyfm of ages pafl: 
An eye inquifitive fhe threw, and oft 
The credulous hiftorian, copying ftili 
The date erroneous, with unerring art 



5 26 Tears of AffeBion. 

ChafllsM and reaitied, the glorious fad 
To its loll hour reitoring, till the page 
Of maim'd chronology fpake truth alone. 

Such was thy fl^ill, dear maid, by nature taught 
The maze of hcav'nly motions to explore. 
Nor this thy only art, in numbers vers'd. 
And able early to untie with eafe 
The problematic knot, howe*er delay'd 
By frafrion cumberfome, and hard to rule. 
Thine was the pow*r when calculation fwarm'cl 
V/ith digits numberlefs, and fcarce could urge 
Her toilfome procefs, by unwieldy fizs 
Retarded, to condufl with eafe the mind 
Thro' all its movements to the truth it lough;: 
By that fweet art of the wild Arab learn'd. 
Compendious method, whofe difputing march 
Relieves the foul of effort, and cuts (hort 
The labour of attention, making truth 
To him who millions agitates involv'd 
No longer vex'd and tedious;, nor to him 
Who geometric inference purfues. 
Still on the lettered diagram intent. 

Thine alfo was the art, to touch with fkiH 
And various feeling the perfuafive Aop 



Tears of Affedwu 227 

Of orpan mellow-ton'd, (low movement firll: 

And iblemn fingering, till the lapt foul 

Vv'ith fwe^'t indulgence fdtiated 'gan doze 

As if by opium lull'd, and ill perceiv'd 

Tlie melting lapfe of diapafon founds, 

Harmonious combination falling ilow 

Into a tremulous expiring clofe. 

Then the briilc fugue with captivating air, 

Expreilive paufe, and tone dillindl and loud, 

Led like fome a<flive hero to the field, 

Led and was followed by battalions firm, 

'Till univerfal uproar fillM the ear. 

Then follow'd tender air, that flole along 

Like foftefl poetry, whofe dying fall 

Might ravhh Heav'n itfelf. Then folemn march, 

Impulfe fcarce needing of tlie pow'rful trump 

And loud reverberating drum, to wake 

Repofmg valour to gigantic deeds. 

Then air accompanied by verfe and voice. 

Haply of Handel's mufe, for fome fweet grace 

Selected and edeem'd haply deriv'd 

From genius lefs improv'd, from living art 

AVhich feldom to the judgment dares appeal 

Her fong compiling for the ear alone. 

Religious anthem then thy fpreading hand 

With its full concord fwell'd, whether it breath** 



22S Tears of Jfeclion. 

Melodious folo or harmonious verfe, 
Or fhouted ciiorus awfully devout 
Enrich'd with all the mylkries of tone. 

What grace had mufic which to thee was n«sv 
Or hard to copy, evermore intent 
Upon her learned pleafu re-giving page. 
And yet not fo intent, but that thy eye 
Would often hunger for fedater fare, 
Would thirfl: th' amufing chara<flers of Greece 
In Homer^s line to read, and drink the ftream 
Of pure Cadalius genuine as it fell. 
Nor of that fount alone, but of the fount 
Of God, whence prophets their fublimer draught 
Drew, 'till the plenteous bev'rage on their lips 
Kindled divine enthufiafm, long'd thy foul 
To talle with freedom. Hence thy brave attempt 
To clim.b the mountain of Jud^an writ, 
*riil nought of Hebrew rudiment thy fearch 
Or memory efcap*d. The key was thine 
The ark of ancient promife to unlock. 
And there the lacred leaf to others dum.b 
To fcan and to interpret for thyfeif. 
Yet flighted not thy truth adoring foul 
The volume of tranfliition, long efleemed 
And executed well, nor needing yet^ 



Tears of Affe^ion, 229 

Save here and there, a fenfe-reftoring touch. 
Thence drew thy judgment a continual feafl, 
The chain of prophecy expounding flill 
Link after link as iloxy lent thee light, 
And tracing with conviflion the flrong proof 
Of Chriftian verity, ftill free to doubt 
And nothing credulous, yet yielding fiill 
To equal teftimony brave aflent. 



oUCH were the treafures of thy aflive mind, 
Ingenious Ifabel ; fuch the fweet arts 
Which made thee to a brother dear indeed ; 
That not the pious child of More to him 
Seem'd to polTefs, enchanting as fhe was, 
Of mental beauty a more ample (hare. 
Yet, lovely as thou wert, thy hour is pafl, 

hy beaming day is ended. Thou art gone, 
Fleeting and tranfient as the cloud of morn, 
And only this poor feeble outline lives, 
This ftol'n refemblance of thy trembling fhade 
Caft by the midnight taper on the w^ji, 



230 Tears of Affcclion, 

And forrowfully penciPd ere thy lips 
Were cold in death. Yes, this poor fhade alone 
Is all that Heav'n has left me, and e'en this 
Had not been mine to weep o'er and to love. 
But that my d iring pencil fpite of grief 
The feature copied when the foul was fled. 
Dear welcome image in my bofom dwell. 
Forfake me never. Let me love thee ftill, 
And often gaze upon thy lifelefs cheek 
Till blinded fcrrow has no eye to fee. 
Let me the kifs of extacy imprint 
On thy cold lips, oft as my finking foul 
With recolle6lion bows of thofe dear hours 
"When thy belov'd original was mine 
To fpeak to and carefs. Then go in peace 
And to the manfion of my heart return, 
Whence none but death (hall pluck thee. There 
In mute fecurity till life be fpent. [repofc 

Nought that reminds me of the maid I lov'd. 
Nor aught that (he applauded or efleem'd 
Shall from my fight depart. Therefore fliall you, 
Ye gentle doves familiar to the hand. 
Whom goodnefs long experienc'd has made tame 
And nothing fearful of the touch of man. 
Under my roof ftill live, and ftill enjoy 
Provifioa plenteous. Ifabel your lives 
2 



Teat's of AffeSlion, 231 

Redeemed for pity and the debt forgave. 
Dying herfelf your liberty {he alk'd 
Of thirfly violence, and ye fhall fall 
When nature pleafes, without fhedding bload. 
And thou too, tabby favorite, tho' thy eye 
Stranger to tears no forrow has exprefs'd, 
Still fporting on the hearth tho' Ifabel 
Thy fond protecflrefs is thy friend no more, 
Thou, gentle kitten, (halt no morning-meal 
With flender tone petitionary a(k 
But I will yield it. Sit upon my knee. 
And whifper pleafure, gratitude and love. 
For favour well beflow'd. Thy filky neck 
Still offer to the prelTure of my hand. 
And fear no evil. Frifk upon the floor. 
And cuff the cufhion or fufpended cork 
Till riot make thee weary. Slumber then 
In the warm funbeam on the window's ledge. 
Till from thy fur the fpark ele6i:ric fpriiig. 
Or doze upon the elbow of my chair, 
Or on my fhoulder, or my knee, while I 
Loft in fome dream of happinefs deceased 
Steal from refleflion pleafure, and beguile 
A morning's march acrofs the vale of life 
By mufing upon comforts now no more. 
Or if fweet fleep not pleafe thee, with the corvi 



232 Tears of Affe6tion. 

And dangling talTel of the curtain play, 
Or feize the grumbling hornet, or pert wafp 
Intruding ever, v;hile I fmile remote 

At danger brav'd by vent'rous ignorance 
And anger ill-efcap*d. Only forbear 
To teaze the fly and inoffenfive moth, 
As Ifabel forbade thee. Leafi: of all 
Faften thy talons on the fencelefs dove. 
For that were murder not to be excus'd. 



vJ Changeable and fleeting world ! The hour 
E'en now by time's repeating tongue announc'd 
Completes the circle of twelve fpeedy months 
Since I my Ifabel, with heart elate 
And proud of its pofleflion, at the ball 
Beheld triumphant j fmce her rapid hand 
The harp's fweet firings with emulation fmote. 
And eaflly victorious won the palm. 
Yet bUifh'd to take it as not well deferv'd. 
Where is flie now ? O foul-difl:ra6ling thought \ 
Open thy caverns, earth, and blefs my fight 
With one fhort interview of her I mourn. 



Tears of Afedion, i^^t 

And thon, great God, forgive me, if I burfl 
The portal of the grave, ill-reconcil'd 
To this thy hard decree. Ye filent dead 
I come to weep in your profound abodes. 
To (lied my tears withia your mould'ring vaults 
UVIid eyeiefs fculls and dillipated bones. 
I have a father fomewhere. Here he lies. 
Good man, I much refjKcl: thee, tho' my tears 
Grac'd not thy funeral hour ; a cliild too young 
To know the value of the friend he lofl. 
Repofe in peace. Thy children (hall be mine. 
I come not now to weep thee, but to feek 
My long-lov'd Ifabel, of all thy train 
Save one the youngeft, and of all thy train 
Excepting none the loveliell:. Here llie deeps, 
Known to a father fcarce tv/elve litue moons. 
To me a daughter for twelve precious years 
Twice told. Thou tenant of the gloomy vault? 
Whom thefe dark boards have prifon'd from my 
Thou ilceping angel in a treble cheil [^ight. 

Thrice lock'd and bolted, let me the harfa fcrew 
Which thy fweet fmile confines from its firm hold 
Wrench hatefully away. Let me the feam. 
Which o'er thy filent innerm.ofl recefs 
Strong cement clofes, refolutely burft 
To view thy welcome countenance again. 
X 2 



,234 ^ears of Affedion. 

Where are the lips which mine fo oft have prelVd 

In joyous weJcome and in fad adieu ? 

Where are the eyes, which ne'er encounterM thcfe 

But to relate, in eloquence how fweet. 

In poetry how charming, the foft tale 

Of daughterly afFcd'ion ? V/here, oh where 

Is the fwcet voice that charm'd my foul to refr, 

And made my cottage but a ftep from Hcav*n ? 

Where is the hand fo welcome to my touch, 

So fklll'd to gratify my thirfling ear 

With harmony's full meafure of delight ? 

Obflru6tion hence^ impediment away. 

Tho' univerfal Heli my arm oppofe 

I will again behold her. Lend me, Death, 

Lend me, grim monfter, thy eternal bar. 

Thy maffy lever that upheaves the lid 

Of the mephitlc marble-jaw'd abyfs, 

And I fl^all all prevail. Lo ! it is done. 

Ah me 1 is this my Ifabel ? Are thefc 
The lips where health his odoriferous gales 
And vernal rofes (lied ? Are thefe the balls 
Whofe dew fo often fell to foothe my pain 
Or welcome my return, provoking frill 
'ilie latent fympathy my looks denied 
Till mv heart melted and my eye o'erflow'd r 



Tears of AffeBion. 23^ 

Are thefe the fingers that fo charmed my ear ? 

Is this the hand that dwelt upon my arm 

So many fummers in the evening walk ? 

The hand that ferv'd me with good-will fo free^ 

Guided the pen fo fairly, and the heart 

So fweetly portray'd on the vacant leaf ? 

How chang'd and how difguls'd ! Dear lovely maid, 

Thefe wafted features, and this dread attire 

Deprive thee of all i^emblance. But for thefe 

External horrors which thy limbs enclofe. 

And this thy name engraven, I ftiould deem 

Delufion bound me in her fubtie chain. 

¥/hither, oh whither is thy beauty fied ? 

Great God of change, unchangeable thyfelf. 
How tranfient are thy works ! the very world 
Is but a beauteoas flower, whofe fweet leaves 
Still fade to flourish, ftill revive to die. 
The tide once overwhelm'd it, and the frown 
Of him who made it has its tender branch 
Oft wither'd. It (ball periili once again 
E'en to the root, and yet revive and live. 
And fo fnalt thou, fweet Ifabel, return. 
Heav'n fpeed the day. Eternal Deity, 
Be it thy pleafure to reftore her foon. 
Reftore her now. Let my unhallow'd lips 
X3 



235 Tears of Affection, 

The word conve}^ Arch-angel, blow the trump. 

And fend thy death-fubduing fummons forth 

That hell may hear and tremble. Let old earth 

Quake to her broad foundations at thy blaft, 

And gafp and heave with agonies intenfe 

To give her kindled millions fecond birth. 

Let Heav'n be open'd and the fpotlefs judge 

Upon the clouds defcend, the fhout of Gods 

Wafting his chariot to the world he won. 

i will not fly, tho' confcious of offence 

And many a talent waflcd and ill-ufed, 

Till I have feen my Ifabel awake 

To blefs me with a fmile. Why ftays the hour ? 

Why (lumbers Tuflice at her chariot fide ? 

Have I no voice in Heav'n ? Then forrow come. 

And (bed no drop of comfort in my cup. 

Here let me die the vifilm of regret, 

And Ileep till mercy wake n:>e, till relief 

Wipe all away my tears^ and bid me live 

"For mifery is no more. Clofe at thy fide, 

Infrenious Ifabel, let me be laid. 

Never to leave thee. May .the daring wretch 

Who parts my bones from thine feel never peace. 

But figh for agonies fevere as thefe. 

Sweet maid, I iov'd and rear'd thee as I could. 

And a(k forgivencis that I did no more. 



Tears of Affedion, 337 

Muil I flill live ? Great God at thy command, 
I clofe my lips. I will no more complain. 
I will return to life, however fharp, 
Nor quit it till thy fummons call me hence. 
Adieu, my love, fweet Ifabel adieu, 
My loft companion, exquifitely dear, 
I leave thy cold and folitary cell 
To vifit life again, I fhall not long 
Be abfent from thy fide. Thefe lingering pains^ 
EiFedl of vigilance and much concern. 
And fretful melancholy pining ftill 
For thee my treafure lofl, will yet prevail 
And weigh me down to death. Departed maid^ 
Soon to thy fide I come, and bounteous God. 
Grant me this bleffing, never to be mov'd 
From this my fpot of coveted repofe 
Till the loud trump of refurre<5tion blow. 
Then (hear me Heaven) let thefe lamenting cyes> 
Which faw my lovely Ifabel depart, 
Firft wake to endlefs being, and with tear$. 
Of joy profufe her renovatioa mark. 
Let me behold her as the gentle warmth 
Of life rekindles, as her glowing cheek 
The hue of health recovers, as her pulfe 
Begins again to throb, her lip to breathe. 
Then let me wake her with aa .ardeot kiis^ 



23B ^ears of AffeSlion, 

And with a flood of tranfport blefs the day 

Which makes her mine for ever. Day remote 

And long to be expe£led. For not yet 

Shall pafs this world away. Not yet fhall come 

The funeral of the globe, tho' earth be old 

And oft betray her fymptom of decline. 

No ! I have long to tarry ere the morn 

Of refloration dawn, and many a flow 

And weary winter mufl I urge away. 

Diftrefs and flcknefs, forrow, care, and pain, 

Muft I endure alone, flied many tears, 

Lament for comforts gone, and thro' the dark 

And difmal cave of diflolution march, 

Ere I can meet my Ifabel again. / 

And even then my pittance of defert 

Shall ill entitle me her blifs to fliare, 

Tho' Heav'n be bountiful and much forgive, 

Tho' it attribute merits not our own 

To us who need. Then what is life to me ? 

The cage of difcontent, dark prifon-houfe 

Of forrow and complaint, which I nor dare 

To quit, nor hope to dwell in. Happier days 

Once found me loitering, but fuch days are fled. 

Yes, I was happier once, and fondly fung 
Of comforts not diflembled, of my cot 



Tears of Jffedion. ^t^ 

And fvveet amufements which attra6r no more. 

Methought my fong .Oiould ever be content^ 

Plac'd by my God where I was richly blefs'd. 

In fuch a nook of life that I nor wiiii'd 

Nor fancied aught that could have pieas'd me more. 

So fings the fiimmer linnet on the bough, 

And pieas'd with the warm fun-beam, half afleepj 

The feeble fonnet of fupine content 

To his Creator warbles, warbles fwcet 

And not contemn'd, till fome unfeeling boy 

His piece unheeded levels, and with fliow'r 

Of leaden mifchief his ill-utter'd fong 

Suddenly clofes. Pines the fongfter thea 

Wounded and fcar'd, flutters from bough to bough. 

Complains and dies, or lingers life away 

III fdent anguiili and is heard no more. 



240 Tears of AffeSlion. 



lYiY God, have I arraigned thee ? Let thy bow 

Ten thouland arrows in this bofom fix, 

Yet will I own thee juil. Take all av^a}^ 

Leave me no friend, but let me weep alone 

At mute aiHi6tion's Iblitary board. 

Summon Cecilia to an early grave. 

And let her tribe of cheerful graces fade 

Faft as the flow'r {he gathers. Let the worm 

Prey on the rofes of Eliza's cheek. 

Yet will I blefs thee. For to this harfh world 

I came a beggar, but fufficient bread 

Have never needed. Thy indulgent hand 

Fed and fuflain'd me, and fuflains me flill. 

Nor feel 1 harddiip which thy partial rod 

To me alone difpenfes. Bitter lofs 

^orrov/ and mifery overflow the cup 

Of many a foul more innocent than mine. 

Behold yon village church, whofe humble tower 
Stands in a vale between two lofty hills 
Upon the confines of the winter's flood. 



Tears of AffeBion. o^/i^x 

There Caroletta lleeps. Poor haplefs girl ! 
She faw a daring brother bound in chains 
And vilited his dungeon — faw the fword 
Of angry juftice waving o'er his head— 

Bkifh'd for his ihame — abfconded from the world 

Pin»d into ficknefs — and, the culprit dead, 
Clofe at his heels went down into the grave. 
So beauty, virtue, piety, and youth 
Fell in an inflant, and the fey the of time 
Cut from the root with one determin'd blow 
The noifome thidle and the harmlefs rofe. 
A rofe too delicate and winning fair 
For the deferted village where it grew. 
And happily remov'd to bloom in Heav'n. 

Condufl thine eye along that chain of hills, 
Obferve a fleeple at the mountain's foot 
Girded by woodland. There Aurelia 11 vM, 
And to her happy fpoufe, the Vicar, bore 
Six fmiling Infants. To maturer years 
Each r©fe in turn, but ere the hour was paft 
Which childhood limits, one grew fick and died. 
Another lingered and another fell. 
A third departed ; and thus clos'd the grave 
On three fweet maidens in the bloom of life. 
A duteous foa then fell, by phrenfy feiz'd 



^42 Tears of Affe^lion, 

Ere Education her expenfive work 

Had well accompIifliM, and the letter'd youtlf 

Difmifs'd a graduate. Yet another liv'd, 

But Hv'd remote upon the Indian fhore, 

Nor there liv'd long, but died. The Vicar then 

To Heav'n was fummon'd, and his weeping fpoufc 

With only one poor fickly daughter left 

Fled from the vale and was ngt heard of more. 

Then let not me complain, but o'er thy grave. 
Departed Ifabel, my tablet place 
And to my hearth return ; content that heav'n 
"Which all might challenge has yet fpar'd me much. 
^< Adieu, iwect maid, whom death untimely fmote 
" As eagec winter nips the bud of fpring 
^« For bloffoming too early. Here fecure, 
^« While judgment tarries, in the dud repofe, 
^* And while lefs happy thro' the vale of life 
*' We toil in tears without thee. Yet not long 
'* Shall death divide us. Swift as the dove's wing 
" Shall pafs the moments of this changeful ftage, 
** And foon our bones fliall meet. Here will we 

fleep, 
<* Here wake together, and from hence afcend 
<* (If haply innocence like thine be ours) 
^« To love which no afflifiiioa fhall difturb." 
4 



Tears of Affection, 24 j 

Ye kind and cheerful partners of my roof 
Receive me once again, and once again, 
Welcome aiTociates of my humble board, 
Smile at my entrance, and alTuage my paiii 
With pure ^fteem's reiterated kifs. 
Cecilia, let thy finger fill my ear 
With the fweet concord of fubduing loimds 
Prelude to ferious fong. Let thy free voice 
Eliza footh me v/ith Tome plaintive air. 
Till peace and comfort fill my breaft again. 
Steal me away from grief and grief from me. 
Let not your hearts be fad, tho* on my cheek 
Dull melancholy dwell, and from my brow 
Depart relu6lant as the louring gloom 
Of mid-November. Yet this cloud fliall pafs, 
And float away v/ith fenfible retreat 
In the returning fianlliine of content. 
This frown of winter fhall again be chas'd 
By the fweet fmile of fpring. Summer fiiall comc^ 
And joy fhall blofibm from ten thoufand buds 
Gay as the neiflarine, tho' now its branch 
Seem to be blafled by a withering frofl 
Never to flourifii more. Come then, my love^^ 
Still let improvement be our daily care. 
And let us rife to this our welcome tafk 
Soon as the lark of May, which foars aloft 
y 



244 Tears of Affedlon, 

In the firfl gllmpfe of morning, and performs 

A darkling anthem at the gates of Heav'n. 

Let us purfue it, earnefl as the bee 

Searching the rafpberry's unfolded bloom, 

Which never leaves it till the fun is couch'd 

The longefl fummer's day ; yea travels ftill 

And with the nightingale her ftrain prolongs 

E'en in the moon-beam, when the vale is hufh'd 

And ev'ry idler bird gone home to bed. 

This be our only care till waning life 

Has number'd all its fands. And then one grave 

Receive us all, and be one only vault 

The darkfome cell of our imprifon'd bones. 

Thither let nature lead us one by one 

Nothing defpairing, tho' with plenteous tears 

Haply bewailing intermitted love. 

As now we weep o'er Ifabel deceasM. 

No proud infcription memorize the fpat 

To which our afhes are gone down in hope. 

But let one unadorn'd and modeffc Hone 

Plain and fmcere, fay only, " Here he lies 

« And here lie thofe he lov'd and thofe he fung." 

Under the altar of yon village church. 

Which ftands upon a hillock in the vale 

And looks toward the foamy fweiling deep, 

Clofe by the fide of Ifabel fo dear. 



Tears of Ajfe6lmu 24^ 

Will we repofe together ; there to reil:, 

Till at the dawn of everlailing doom 

The fummoning Archangel lift his trump 

And blow the dead to life. Then iliall we wake 

To fweet renewal of unceafing love. 

To farer peace and union without end. 

Thou bonnteous Author of ciU human hliiB^ 
Give me whatever lot thy wifdom deems 
Meet and convenient — pleafure, if thou wilt — 
If not, then pain — and be it fharp as this 
My heart tho' wounded ihall adore thee flUL 



ir 2 



THE BOU0UET. 



I. VERSES 

OCCASIONED BY AN ACCIDENT, 

IT chanc'd, her gay triumph to check. 
As Amanda was dancing with grace. 

The chain that encompaiVd her neck 
Came afi.mder and fell from its place. 

Be it mine, faid the youth at her fide, 
To entrammel a heart that would flray. 

It Ihall refc where it is, fne replied, 
Left: my own fnouid be piifer'd away. 

Ay, bind it, he anfwer'd with zeal, 

O fur chaiity give it a chain. 
For none that has power to Ileal, 

Will have virtue enough to refrain. 



^5© 'The Bouquet. 



II. THE AUTHOR'S ADDRESS 

TO HIS FATHER. 

JL/EPARTED foul, whofe fudden calm deceafc 
Came in the moment when thy joyous heart 
Welcomed the birth-hour of thy latefl born — 

hou at whole feet a care-devoted child 
I flood unconfcious in the hour of death. 
And faw thy eyelid clofe, nor deem*d it aught 
Save the fweet fymptom of returning fleep — 
Kind parent, whofe indulgence yet my foul 
Fondly remembers, and thy name reveres — 
If in the manfions where thy fpirit dwells 
Inhabits fweet remembrance of thy own, 
Know they are happy, and thy virtues hail 
With never-ceafmg pride and filial joy. 



The Bouquet. 251 



HI. VERSES 



TO AMANDA. 



F Prometheus, my chnrmer, complam*d 
Of the rigorous juftice of Jove, 
And to Caucafus ever was chaiii'd, 
When he Hole only fire from above. 

Shalt thou Tcape the Thunderer's blow. 
And thy infinite theft be forgiven,. 

Who hafl plunder'd all nature below, 

Who halt ftol'n all the beauties of Heaven f 

O no, thou no longer fhalt fl:ray 
From the fetters of punifhmerit free, 

Mighty Jove the vail: wrong Aiali repay. 
And chain thee for ever— to mc 



252 The Bouquet • 



IV. CANZONET I. 



vV HEN the grey witch of former days 
Prerum'd to eKcrcife her fpeli 
She made her exit in a blaze, 

And he that was bewitch'd was well. 

But now fince more angelic fhapes 
At incantation take their turn. 

The beauteous forcerefs efcapes 

And he that is bewitch'd mufl burn. 

So am I doom'd in fpite of aid 

To languish in the mid'ft of flame, 

Faft-ftak'd by yon enchanting maid 
Who charms me with her very name. 

Bewitching beauty, ah reftrain 
The pow'rful magic of thine eye, 

Beftow a fmiie upon my pain, 
And fet me free or let me die. 



The Bouquet, 253 

Roufe thy difpleafure. Let defpalr 

With his keen arrow pierce my fide, 
Or give me eafe which mufl be there 

Where Heav'n, and love, and thou refidc. 



V. THE MIDNIGHT INFOCJTIOlSr. 

jL E faries who float on the breeze 
And in biofToms delight to repofe, 
Of regale with convenience and eafe 
In the mofs-cover'd bud of the rofe. 

Ye elves who in acorn cups dwell 

Sleeping faft through the fervours of noon^ 

And rejoice round the hyacinth's bell 

To dance down the pale day of the moon. 

Lay afide ev'ry fport ye purfue 

On the mountain or dew-befprent green, 
And your gay fummer habits renew 

To come hither and wait on your Queen. 



254 ^'^^^ Bouquet. 

Make ye hafte at the dead of the night 
From her chamber to ileal her away, 

O make hafte, and again to my fight 
My divine little charmer convey. 

Your mofl: eafy of chariots prepare, 

One whofe wheels are on thiftle-down borne^ 
And condu(fb her afleep thro' the air 

Softly fmiling as rofy-chcek'd'morn. 

Deck her couch with the blofToms of fpring, 
Round about her fweet effences ihed. 

And fufpend the grey butterfly's wing 
For a canopy over her head. 

In the lap of fweet flumber and eafe 
On the plumes of the moth let her lie, 

And her cheek curtain clofe from the breeze 
With tlie web of the foe to the ily. 

And, fmce flumber and mufic agree. 
Gentle \iarmonies round her be heard, 

The foft flutes of the gnat and the bee 
And the hum of the dew-fipping bird. 



The Bouquet* 255 

At my door when your myriads alight 

Let no footflcp difquiet her peace, 
Come ye down like the fnow in the night 

Soft and Hill as the dew on the fleece. 



And if, wak'd, from yon intricate thorn 
The fweet linnet fliould warble his lay. 

Bid him hulh for it is not the morn, 
He has long to repofe before day. 

Airy charmer, who thus to my fight, 
Cloth'd in fancy's bewitching attire, 

Cornell: ever by day and by night 

While I gaze and too fondly admire ; 

Lift thine eye and my paffion approve, 
For I own and conceal it no more. 

Thou alone art the fairy I love. 
Thou alone art the fylph I adore. 

Yet alas ! fmce to thefe longing arms 
Thy attradions thou wilt not refign, 

Slumber on while I dote on thy charms 
And applaud what muft never be mine. 
z 



2^6 The Bouquet. 

Ah ! the Fates, gentle Waller, deiign'd 
That our lots fhould ia one thing agree. 

Thou waft won by a maiden unkind. 
And a maiden unkind has won me. 

Thou didfl love, and flill fhe could refufc 
Sweet encouragement never was thine, 

SaccharilTa could laugh at thy mufe 
Anna-bella is heedlefs of mine. 



ro A LADT 



WHO, UPON RECEIVING A FLOWER, OBSERVED 
THAT NATURE COULD NOT HAVE MADE IT 
MORE PERFECT. 

VvOULD Nature do no more for this fair flower ? 

Aflert it not, fair maid, — it is not true ; 
To make a fairer (lie had furely power, 

Who made a fairer when (he model'd you.* 

* For the thought of this little piece and one of the lines, the 
Author conf^ffes lumfelf to have been indebted to an ingenious 
Friend. 



n€ Bouquet. 257 



VII. CANZONET II. 






-In my bofom contentment fhall reign 
And defpair (liall torment me no more, 

I have fecn my lov'd fair one again 

And (lie came with a fmile to my door. 

I have feen her tho' tranfient her flay, 
Tho' lime would not loiter and wait. 

And the (how'r has not yet wafh'd away 
The fmall print of her foot at my gate. 

Rapid day the ftrong reafon explain 

"Why thy fteeds were fo quick to be gone, 

To remove, my fweet angel again 
And to leave me to linger alone. 

Come again and to merit my praife 
Travel How thro' the regions above. 

And I'll give thee the gratefuleft lays, 
Which can flow from the bofom of love, 
% 2 



258 7he Bouquet, 

O return, and to win my good will. 
When I fee her approach from afar 

Turn thy fteeds with their heads to a hill 
And lock fad ev'ry wheel of thy car. 



Vill. LINES 

INSERTED IN A POCKET-BOOK. 

v_yO, little book, I charge thee pofl: away 5 
To the fair hand of her I love depart. 

And in foft numbers to her eye convey 
The flill confefTion of a wounded heart. 

Whifper the hopekfs pafTion in her ear 
Which thy fad mafter can no longer hide, 

And fay not Littleton was more fmcere 
When at his Lucy's grave he fondly figh'd. 

Go and return not, but tiom day to day. 
Plead for aifeflion till her heart approve. 

Go and return not, but forever fi:ay, 
The ficred pledge of unforbidden love. 



The Bouquet. 2^^ 

For know, if to this hand thefe leaves return. 
And to this heart unwelcome tidings bear. 

Thou mufl: a flame-devoted victim burn 
Upon the kindled altar of defpair. 

But if thou flay, and her propitious eye 
Delight to read my undifTembling line. 

Thy precious memory fhall never die. 
But live eternal as her love and mine. 



IX. ADDRESS TO THE MOON, 



Ri 



.EFLENISH'D moon, whofe unobArufted beam 
Once more upon the windows of my cot 
Shines with fuch fweet indulgence, welcome flill. 
I bid thee welcome with a cheerful heart 
Which loves thy. gentle mitiga^ed ray. 
And the fweet fmile of mute benevolence 
Which glows upon thy brow — whether thy orb 
Rife in the tranquil hour and climb in peace 
The azure concave of unclouded Heav'n, 
Or leave its couch to crofs a flormy fky 
And pod triumphantly from cloud to cloud—* 
23 



'26o The Bouquet. 

Or whether thy pure beam flied fecond day 
Upon a frofty fcene of hills and dales 
Cover'd with Winter's fnow, or dimly rife 
From Autumn's purple eafl with afpect flreak'd. 
Tawny, and flowly bright'ning, as fubfides 
The ray of mellow evening in the weft — 
Yes I flill love thee, and thy rifmg hail . 
With all the little mufic which the lyre 
Struck by my hand can utter. 

Yet, fair moon. 
Much as I love thee, let me wifh thee gone. 
Empty thy golden globe. Reverfe thy hornsg 
Swiftly renewing till thy ample orb 
Once more arrive at her fulLlumin'd hour. 
For know, unwearied emprefs of the night. 
Soon as thy lamp induftrious fhall have run 
its phafy circuit round the tardy earth. 
So foon I meet the fair one I adore. 
My promlfe-bound companion in the dance. 
Then, cheerful orb, I fhail not look on thee. 
Fair as thou art, a fairer flill than thou 
Wm all my tendance win. Sweet is thy fmile 
But fwceter hers. For as thy beauteous light 
O'ercomes the feebler glories of the fky, 
So wiii her fair appearance thy poor ray 



The Bouquet* 261 

With eafe fubdue, and make it pale and faint 
As at the dawn of all-eclipfing day. 



X. CANZONET III. 

W HEN the maid that poflefTes my heart 

Was content at my manfion to flay, 
Rapid time was in hafte to depart 

And the moments fled laughing away. 

But now fince I fee her not near. 
And to feek her is not in my pow'r^ 

Ev'ry day is as long as a year, 

Ev'ry moment as flow as an hour. 

Tardy time, thy fleet pinions repair. 
To be f\^/ifter than ever was known^ 

Let the hours while I wait for my fair 
Dance away upon findals of down 

Eut when, her gay fellows among. 
At my door my fweet angel appears^ 

Bid the moments fleal foftly along 
And lengthen the days into years. 



ao2 The Bouquet. 



XI. ADDRESS TO HJPFINESS, 

O HAPPINESS, thou puny Hiort-llvM plant, 
Whofe tender branch this World's inclement fky 
But ill endures, and bears abundant bloom 
In the pacific clime of Heaven alone. 
Let me thy tranfient beauty flrive to rear, 
Not without hope, uncertain as thou art, 
That thy fweet bloflom fliall at length be mine, 
ril give thee rtielter from all winds that blow, 
Diifufe eternal fummer round thy head, 
And fatisfy thy root with gentle drops 
Warm as the dew the tender mother Iheds 
Upon her drooping child. And in return 
Do thou, fweet ftranger, to my longing eye 
At leaft one bloilom leifurely unfold, 
To be tranfported, when occafion fmiles, 
Into the bofom of tlie maid I love. 
There to abide, perchance fhall pleafe thee well. 
For 'tis a manfion like thy native feat. 
The fair abode of innocence and truth* 
Be it thy home, and fatisfy mankind 



The Bouquet* 26^ 

That happlncfs can flouiifh here below, 
And is not always like the Cereus' bloom, 
Alive at nirrht and wither'd ere the morn. 



XII. CANZONET IV. 

V-y AN aught be more fair to the eye 

Than the bludi of the maidenly year ? 
Can aught with the orchard-bloom vie 

When in May its fweet blo/Toms appear ? 
Can aught like the eglantine pleafe, 

Or the rofe budding ? Tell me what can ? 
O thrice more attrafling than thefe 

Is the cheek of my fweet little Anne. 

What can charm like the fpring of the field 

When it trickles tranfparently by ? 
Or what fweerer pleafure can yield. 

Than to look on the gems of the fky ? 
What can win like the tremulous dew 

Which the Zephyrs on goflamer fan ? 
O thrice more enchanting to view 

Is the eve of mv fweet little Anne. 



^54 ^he Bouquet. 

Can aught like the morning delight 

When it dawns toward peaceable day ? 
Or bewitch like the planet of night 

When fhe deals in good humour away ? 
Is there aught like the fweetneis of eve, 

When ferene as when Nature began. 
The foft fun takes his mellow lad leave ? 

Yes, the fmile of my fweet little Anne, 

Can aught more delicious be nam'd 

Than the exquifite fruit of the pine ? 
More inviting can aught be prociaim'd 

Than the elegant bunch of the vine ? 
Is there aught can in flavour exceed 

Ev'ry beverage precious to man ? 
O yes, thefe are taftelefs indeed 

To the kifs of my fweet little Anne. 

Thrice more than the fun-fetting hour 

Or the dawn of the morning, benign, 
More delightful than fpring's fweetefi flow'r 

Or the mirth-making juice of the vine. 
More ferene than the gems of the (ky, 

And more foft than the down of the fwan, 
Is the cheek, is the lip, is the eye. 

Is the fmile, of my fweet little Anne. 



The Bouquet, 265 



XIII. SECOND JDDRESS TO THE MOOW. 

iVXoON that fo fairly rifeft from the crown 

Of yon high oak, and. wafl fo fondly pray*d 

To fill thy orb with light, ah me ! how cold. 

How little welcome is thy cheerlefs beam ! 

Meth ought it would have found me full of hope. 

And at the fide of one whofe winning fmiles 

My foul devoutly honours. " But it comes 

To fee me languiihing in difcontent. 

To fee me pining with a brimful eye. 

Soliciting in vain the buried dart 

Which feflers in my bofom. Gentle moon. 

How did I blame thee that thy phafy lamp 

So tardily increas'd. For now methought 

I fhould again my charmer's eye engage, 

And touch the hand which her own welcome word 

Her own fpontanejus promife had decreed 

Should at this moment have been link'd in mine. 

O happinefs, thou fair delufive flower. 
How painfully had I thy puny bud 



266 The Bouquet, 

Taught to unfold its flow reluctant leaf ! 
How had I cherifh'd thee, with little doubt 
Ere this thy grateful bloflbm would have graced 
The glowing bofom of rewarded love. 
But ah ! a cruel worm has kili'd my hopes. 
Nor can I decorate a wounded heart 
With that fweet bloflbm which it furely needs. 
An exile let me wander, far from hope, 
Far from the haven of content and eafe. 
Far from that Paradife my doting heart 
Fondly fupposM its own. Such was the pain 
Defponding Adam felt when from his hand 
The gracious Angel parted, and he faw 
Before him barren earth's unbounded plain. 
Behind him God's high-blazing fiery fword. 
Such anguifli felt he when the golden gate 
Clos'd on the blooming garden, which his hand 
Had with afFeftion nurtur'd. And fuch too 
Were the few natural drops he flied apart 
And wlp'd them foon. So did he overlook 
And bury in her tears the bitter fmart 
Eve's indifcretion rais'd concealing half 
And all forgiving the vaft woe he felt. 

Poor difcontented heart ! when flialt thou tallrc 
Of the pure fpriug of happinefs again I 
4 



^he Bouquet, 26 j 

Wide is the moon from the life fhedding fun, 
Wide are the fpangled Heavens from the earth. 
Wide is the eaft from the day-drowning weft. 
Yet are not all thefe diftances fo wide 
As the wide diftance between thee and peace. 
Thou reftlefs tenant of an aching breafl, 
Why dofl thou labour at the forge of life 
With fuch impetuous flroke. 'Tis not difeafe 
Which comes thy little kingdom to diflurb. 
Tis not the fever which alarms my blood, 
Or brain delirious, which in ugly dream, 
Sees bony death with his potential bar 
Heaving the lid of the unwholefome vault 
To give my relics room. No, 'tis the lofs 
Of only one fweet jewel dearly prizM, 
Whofe abfence may be fome day not perceiv'd 
Tho* never recompenc'd. Then be at eafe. 
The darkefl: night is follow'd by a dawn. 
The gloomieft cavern has a diflant mouth 
Which opens to the fun. Anguifh and paia 
Are changeable and waning as the moon. 
The weeping mother of an only child 
Can place him in the bowels of the earth 
And feel content again. His blooming bride 
Thehufband buries, and forgets his lofs. 
Then may thy quick tumultuous throb be flliri 
A a 



268 The Bouquet, 

By the flow lapfe of moments, months, and years. 
Be patient then, and let my wakeful eye 
Meet its accuflom'd flumbers. One pang more 
Shall be allow'd thee, when the die is cafl 
And (he's for ever and for ever gone. 
Then to thy peace return, nor wafle a %h, 
Convinc'd that heaven in the cup of life 
Mingles prevention for the good of man. 



XIV. TO A LADY 

WHO DREW THE PINS FROM HER BONNET IN A 
THUNDER-STORM. 

V>fEASE, Eliza, thy locks to defpoil, 
Nor remove the bright fteel from thy hair, 

For fruitlefs and Toad is the toil 
Since nature has made theelo fair. 

While the rofe on thy cheek fhall remain 
And thine eyefo bewitchingly fliine. 

Thy endeavour muil flill be in vain 
For attradiion will always be thine. 



7 he Bouquet n 269 



XV. ADDRESS TO CRITICISM, 

DISTER of nature, lovely Criticifm, 
Whofe friendly, exquifite, judicious touch 
Softens the blaze of genius, and the work 
Of every mufe Improves j ingenious maid, 
Deem not I Hum thee with a fcornful eye. 
Come to my fide and look upon my work. 
Be feated by me. Ruminate my page ; 
And while my hand is loop'd about thy waifl, 
And my reclining head in thoughtful eafe 
Repofes on thy fuoulder, mark my faults. 
Point to the line v/hich my impatient pen 
Has haflily difmifb'd, and blot the word 
Which gives offence to decency or truth. 
I feel and own that I have much to mend. 
Reprove me, and advlfe me. Thy rebuke 
Is ever tender, and fo mix'd with love 
'Tis but a precious medicine difguis'd 
Which charms the palate and reflorcs the maa, 
A a 2 



The Bouquet, 

Such is thy cenfure, Cowper, whom my mufc 
Dares to believe, nor fcrnples to pronounce 
The faireft critic, and the fweeteft bard. 



•r//J B^-D. 



^R^ 



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